


My Prince

by juliechristineb



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No One Direction, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliechristineb/pseuds/juliechristineb
Summary: Carolina Pearson receives the offer of a lifetime to become the key royal photographer for the Crowned Prince Alfred, next in line for the British throne. What she doesn't expect is to fall for the heir's spare, Prince Harry.





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interview.

 “And why do you think you’d be a good fit for this job, Miss…” He glanced down at the paper in front of him, “Miss Pearson?”

My palms were wet and clammy and I tried to rub them onto my long skirt to dry them. I knew this question would be asked. They always ask it. I always practice my answer and always manage to forget it the moment the interviewer asks me.

“Well,” I said after a pause, “I’m very organized and never late. I have a keen eye for detail, as you can see from my portfolio. I throw everything I have at each project I’m given. My past clients gave glowing reviews for all my projects, and when they offer me a criticism, I make sure to remember it for my next project.”

He looked unimpressed. I had been in this interview for twenty minutes and he had been so hard to read, but he was probably supposed to be like that. After all, this job position is pretty serious.

“You’re very young; much younger than the rest of the applicants. Tell me why I should hire you instead of them.”

I swallowed, not expecting a question like that. After a brief pause, I said, “I won’t lie and say I’ve got more experience. I’m sure all of them are very qualified.”

“But?”

I wriggled in the seat, reluctant to speak ill of anyone. “But… they’re a different demographic than I think you would want.”

“How so?”

God, this man has the same range of expressions as a brick. His tone of voice was so flat, I couldn’t tell if he was bored or annoyed. Either way, he wasn’t happy about this interview. Seeing as it seemed I already bombed it, I may as well speak freely.

“I think the palace needs a fresh face. For decades, the official photos are all the same. And with social media on the rise, the young people of the United Kingdom and beyond are looking for leaders they can relate to. I feel I know what they would want more than your other interviewees.”

He went silent for a long time, writing something in his notebook. I sat there silently, unsure of whether he wanted to hear more or for me to leave the room.

“You speak very boldly,” he finally said, setting down his pen “We’re not asking for someone bold; we’re asking for someone compliant.”

I felt like I’d been slapped. I tried not to show my embarrassment on my face. I clung to the edge of my skirt knowing that if I didn’t blow it before, I definitely blew it now.

He closed the folder that had held my CV, covering letter, and some sample photographs from previous jobs. He stood from his seat and extended a hand. I stood as well and took one final swipe on my skirt to rid of the sweat and shook his hand.

“Thank you, Carolina. We’ll contact you sometime next week,” he said flatly. He sat right back down at his desk, moved my folder to the side, and opened someone else’s. He noticed I hadn’t left yet and asked, “Is there something else?”

I gritted my teeth together, knowing I was going to regret my next words. But, alas, they came tumbling out anyways.

“I know I could do this job justice. You’ll be picking the wrong person if you don’t choose me. Thank you for your time.” With that, I exited the room.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Pip – he hated me. You should have seen his face,” I whined, imitating his stern expression.

My flatmate, Pippa Wellington, handed me a glass of cheap white wine nearly filled to the brim. I took a hearty sip as she took a seat next to me on the small, worn sofa.

“He works at the palace! He’s probably not allowed to show facial expressions, like the King’s Guard.”

I rolled my eyes. “Except he wasn’t part of the Guard.” I envisioned him in the tall black hat and red jacket, and cracked a smile. I took another large sip of the cheap wine.

“Beside the point,” Pippa said with a wave of her hand. “You’re a rock star at photography and if he doesn’t see that, well… you’ll do bigger and better things.”

“Better than being the key royal photographer for Prince Alfred?”

Pippa gently placed her hand on my arm. “Mr. Resting-Bitch-Face called you into an interview for a reason. Who knows how many thousand other people applied? And he chose you!”

I drank more of the chilled wine, letting it settle warmly into my stomach. I leaned my head back onto the couch and closed my eyes. “Pip, I only applied on a whim. I can’t keep doing freelance. I love you for paying the majority of the bills, but I can’t let you keep doing that. I’ll start looking for more part-time jobs.” I glanced at my glass of wine, now half-empty. “Tomorrow.” I took another swig.

“How cool was the palace, though?” she asked.

I sighed. “I really didn’t see much. They led me to some obscure side entrance. It actually looked like a boring office building on the inside – you know, white walls, that grey-blue carpet, cubicles… It really didn’t feel like Buckingham.”

Pippa curled her feet under her on the couch. “Did you see anyone, you know, from the royal family?”

I nearly laughed out my wine. “Are you taking the piss? Of course not. I doubt they would let me or anyone near them.”

She pouted. “But Prince Alfred…”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Dear, you’re obsessed. You wouldn’t want him anyways. Have you not seen how much of a player he is? He’s pictured with a new girl every month.”

“At least I don’t have a weird crush on the gay one,” she said, taking a sip of her own wine.

“Shut up!” I scoffed, playfully slapping her knee. “I don’t have a crush and he’s not gay.”

“Right,” she said smiling and laughing, “he’s just a twenty-three-year-old guy who’s never been seen with a girl. Ever. And he’s a prince. Makes sense.”

“Alright, so he’s never publically announced he’s gay–”

“There’s no way his family would ever let him!”

“–but that doesn’t mean anything! The whole LGBT community is becoming more and more accepted. Did you see that the first-ever transgender black man was elected to some government position in the States? If it can be accepted there, it can certainly be accepted here.”

“You’re still weirdly crushing on him,” Pippa added quietly.

I chuckled. “He just… has a nice bone structure. He’s photographed well.”

Pippa let out a loud laugh. “Always the photography with you.”

Pippa always knew exactly what to say to pull me back from the ledge. She managed to pull my mind away from the awful interview. We each finished the bottle of wine and drifted off to our beds happily fuzzy and warm from the alcohol.

I woke up at dawn, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. I hated alcohol for that. I never slept well after drinking. Pip and I shared a tiny two-bedroom flat in Central London. Pippa was a paralegal at a large law firm near Tower Hill, so she was already awake and in the shower. I grabbed my camera from my desk and began taking a couple shots of the skyline. Living on the seventh floor of a building with no lift had only one perk – the view. The horizon was just budding with a dusty rose color, like a flower blossoming in the heat of summer. Except it was March and still freezing. I made a mental note to go to the Natural History Museum, and capture people ice-skating before the rink closed for spring.

When I was satisfied with the pictures, I finally got up from bed and walked to the bathroom right outside my door to grab a couple pills of paracetamol for the small hangover headache that was beginning to form.

As Pippa was putting on her scarf and coat, she called from her room, “Oh, good. You’re up. Tell you what: I can meet you at Coppa tonight after work and treat you to dinner to make you feel better, yeah?”

She peeped her head out of her room to see me chugging a glass of water. I offered her a thumbs up in reply. Pip grabbed her purse, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out the door. I grabbed her keys on the counter and held them out just as she popped back in the door.

“Love ya,” he said with a wink. She took the keys and left for good.

It was a sort of dance we’d learnt since knowing each other during our rattier days as freshers at uni. She was outrageously smart and kind, but her mind flew at a million light-years a second. She often forgot simple things, like coffee on the roof of her car or her keys. But she was always Pip. I, however, moved at a glacial pace for the exact opposite reason: I was too much of a perfectionist. It always took me an extra ten minutes to leave the flat because I would always worry that I had forgotten something. I usually over-packed my purse with things I might need but hadn’t used. Better to be over-prepared than under, right?

I crawled my way back into my warm bed and fell asleep for a few more hours. I woke up again at half-past ten to make myself a cup of tea. The headache that I had tried to remedy away was still rearing a small head. While I waited for my water to boil, I checked my phone. Even though I knew it would be impossible, I still hoped someone from the palace would call. There was no way I’d get the job but some tiny part of me still hoped. There was no missed call so instead, I scrolled through Twitter and Facebook until my water was ready.

After I’d made my cup, I went to my laptop and searched, “Prince Alfred.” The pictures that turned up were mostly amateur ones taken on phones or cheap journalist cameras at different press events or public meetings with us commoners. I’d lived in London for five years and still haven’t met anyone from the royal family, but that didn’t bother me. I wasn’t a fanatic as much as other people were. Having lived in the United Kingdom for my whole life, the royal family wasn’t as awesome for me as, say, all the tourists. Although, I remember all my friends back in Stratford-upon-Avon asked me if I’d met any of them after my first year of moving to London for uni.

I settled on an official royal family photo, where the King and his wife sat regally while their two sons – Prince Alfred and Prince Harry – stood on either side. All the men wore their official navy and gold uniforms, decorated with different military medals and honors, while the King’s wife wore a blush pink suit with a creamy pearl and diamond brooch. I zoomed into Prince Alfred’s features, imagining the best angles to photograph him if, somehow miraculously, I got offered the job. He had very prominent cheekbones and a large nose. I could imagine doing a headshot either straight on or just slightly from above, with a low light atmosphere and black background. As the next in line for the throne, I’d imagine the palace would only allow serious photographs to be presented to the public. But I could see laugh lines on the side of his mouth and crows feet at the corner of his eyes – both of which told me he was a generally happy, funny guy. Personally, as a member of the public, that’s the man I’d like to see in the media, not some stone-faced version of him. Alfred was only human, after all. And he’s only twenty-six. Let the man have some sort of young adult life, right?

I moved the zoom over to his brother, Prince Harry. My heart caught slightly in my chest at his piercing green eyes and flop of curls on his head. Unlike his stoic brother, Harry had the hint of a smile on his lips. Only the smallest dip on his left cheek gave him away. I’d studied his face enough to know that his dimples only appeared when he smiled and somehow the photographer didn’t photoshop the single dimple out.

“At least I don’t have a weird crush on the gay one,” Pippa had said.

It was true that Alfred was the only one ever actively seen with women – a lot of women, at that – and Harry has never, at least to my knowledge. So, with the weird mind that I have, I tried to imagine Harry’s lips attached to that of another man. I tried to see the frenzied touches in the heat of passion, a mysterious man’s hand reaching out to pull the loose curls and Harry’s face lost in the throes of pure bliss. But I just couldn’t see it.

I shut my laptop and muttered to myself, “He’s not gay.” Whether I was stating a fact or trying to convince myself, I wasn’t sure.

I finished my cup of tea and went to go clean it. While drying it, I heard my phone ringing. Figuring it was probably Pippa, I didn’t make a rush to the phone. It was close to being sent to voicemail when I came back to my room. The number wasn’t Pip's. In fact, I didn’t recognize it at all.

“No…”

It was still too soon, right? …Right?

In the flash of a millisecond, I picked up my phone and answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Carolina Pearson?” came the voice on the other end. It was a man.

“Yes, this is she.”

My heart was beating ferociously loud. It was physically painful in my chest.

“Hello,” he repeated, “this is William Mastfield. I interviewed you yesterday for the royal photographer position.”

Yes, I know! I wanted to shout, but I kept my cool. Just tell me I didn’t get the job, I’m ready. I need a drink.

“Oh, how are you?” I asked coolly.

“I’m good,” he replied, “and yourself?”

“I’m great!” Now just give me the bloody news, you twat. Enough with the pleasantries already.

“That’s good. Listen, I was calling to inform you that we would like to offer to you the position, if you’re able.”

I went silent. A hot shiver – which I didn’t know was a thing – ran up and down the length of my spine.

“What?” I finally said.

“I’d like to offer you the position. You came up with a good point in your interview yesterday. That Palace – especially the Crown Prince – need to present a better, more homely face to the public, and your portfolio you submitted does just that for its subjects. The royal family needs to be humanized in this day and age of technology, and we think you’re the one for the job. Will you accept?”

What the fuuuuck.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina celebrates her new job and gets a tour of the palace. There, she runs into a familiar face.

Obviously, I accepted the offer immediately. I didn’t care about trying to act cool or anything. I nearly screamed “yes” at him and then he gave me details on what to do the following Monday. I hated that I had to wait three whole days until starting, but I swallowed that down and called Pippa.

“Car, I’m just about–”

“Shut up,” I quickly interrupted. “Scratch the plans for Coppa tonight.”

“What? Why? Is everything alright?”

“We’re going to Duck & Waffle.”

I heard a snort on the other end of the line.

“Car… a slice of bread costs £10 there. We can’t afford their dinner. I can’t afford their dinner.”

“We can,” I said, unable to contain the smile in my voice. “And it’ll be my treat.”

Pip laughed again. “Right. Maybe if you got the royal photographer job, then…” Her voice trailed off, then she gasped. “You didn’t…”

“I did!” I squealed, “I _fuckin_ ’ did, Pip!”

“Oh my god!” she yelled into the phone.

The next minute or so was spent in incoherent noises on either side of the line, the both of us too excited to form real words or sentences. Eventually, Pippa had to go so we each hung up, but she texted me a second later with nothing but thirteen red exclamation point emojis with the firework screen effect.

I was wide awake now, so I took a shower, cleaned the flat, and edited some of my photos. When it came time to get ready for dinner, I curled my auburn hair and tied the top half into a loose, low-hanging bun. The rest fell just at my shoulders. I applied light makeup, since I had very fair-toned skin. Anything dark made me look too vampirish, as I had learned in secondary school through makeup trial-and-error. When it came to clothing, I really didn’t have many options. When times got tough, I usually resorted to selling my clothes and… well, times were tough. I picked an old shift dress with cold shoulders and three-quarter length sleeves that had pastel pink floral designs on a navy blue background. I pulled on my worn brown faux leather booties, where bits of the leather were now scuffed off. I grabbed my purse and jacket and left the flat.

The walk to Barbican Tube Station was a brisk one. This was the winter that never seemed to end. Light flurries of snow drifted down to the street so delicately that it made me wonder if it was even snowing or just blowing off from rooftops.

I got on the Circle line train right as it pulled into the station. It was jammed full of everyone on their way home from work that Friday. Eventually, I made it to Liverpool Station and wedged my way out of the train. From there it was a quick two-minute walk to the tall building that housed the famous Duck & Waffle.

Pippa was already waiting for me outside. I saw her before she saw me, and saw her doing the cold dance – hands shoved deep into her pockets and gently swaying back and forth.

When she caught sight of me, she fanatically waved her arms above her head and crossed the street to me.

“You got it. I can’t believe you bloody got it,” she said, linking her arm through mine.

“You and me both,” I replied, still not quite believing it myself. I hadn’t made that call up, right?

We crossed the street where two bouncers waited, wearing all black save for the Duck & Waffle logo on their jackets.

“Hi, I have reservations under Pearson?” I told one of the bouncers.

He used a tablet that he pulled out of his pocket to check us in, then let the rope loose to let us in. He scanned our bodies with a metal detector wand and checked inside both our bags before telling us to take the elevator to the 40th floor where we will be seated.

Pip and I always dreamed of dining out at Duck & Waffle, but it was never within our budgets, even combined. Whenever we walked by the skyscraper, we always looked up, trying to count all forty floors to the restaurant. Obviously we never really saw it from the street, but I could just imagine the type of views the vibrant and wealthy people inside saw. Now, it was our turn to act vibrant and wealthy ourselves.

The elevator’s walls were made of glass so we watched as we zoomed up forty floors, seeing the people and cars getting smaller and smaller. I pretended I was Charlie, stepping into the magical elevator with Willy Wonka.

We were seated quickly and given tiny menus that had maybe a dozen dishes in total listed, anywhere from a spicy ox cheek doughnut to a pork and apple corndog. Nothing sounded extremely delicious, but it was the atmosphere that drew Pip and me in. Surrounding us were people wearing fine clothes that I could only dream of wearing, drinking out of crystal champagne flutes or sparkling martini glasses filled with neon-colored liquid.

I ordered the Eden cocktail with the celeriac carbonara, while Pippa got the pink peppercorn lemonade cocktail and the smoked eel.

“Smoked _eel_?” I gasped once the waitress took our menus and walked away.

Pippa laughed and shrugged. “If we’re going to go big, may as well go _big_.”

We each took a sip of our water and I kept glancing around at the people surrounding us, wondering what it was they did for a living that would allow them to afford a dinner here. I made up jobs in my mind for each person – the lady who was dressed suspiciously like Holly Golightly must have been some sleek interior designer, while the man she dined with was some hotshot lawyer. Across from them seated at the window was an older couple who must have been well into their seventies. The man was some sort of tycoon in the financial world and his wife – who I assume was his wife, at least – was a pretty little trophy thing he carried around to important business events.

“Car. Car. Carolina!” Pippa was calling my name and I snapped out of the imaginary world I was in. I hadn’t realized she had been calling my name.

“What?”

“I said, did you call your mum yet? To tell her the news?”

Well, there goes my appetite.

“No,” I said flatly, taking another sip of my water. My mouth felt suddenly dry.

“Why not? Don’t you think she deserves to know you got the job?”

I set down the glass very carefully, though I wanted to smash it on the table.

“No,” I repeated, “I didn’t even tell her I applied, let alone got an interview.”

Pippa leaned in, folding her arms on the table. “Car… when’s the last time you called her?”

I shrugged and looked everywhere but in Pip’s eyes. “I don’t know… two, maybe three months ago.”

Pippa leaned back again in her chair and sighed loudly. “She should know. You should call her.”

To be honest, it was probably longer than three months since I last talked to my mother. I didn’t even go home this past Christmas. Instead, I spent the holidays in London alone, photographing different city landscapes. I hadn’t called her, but then again, she hadn’t tried to call me either.

“It…” I shook my head and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care.”

“She would! She doesn’t even know yet. You don’t know how she’ll react.”

“I do,” I snapped. “I do know how she’d react. She’d be too boozed up or high off her arse to care, or even to understand. That is, _if_ she even manages to remember how to pick up a phone. Now can we drop it?”

Pippa fell silent in her chair and I took a large gulp of my water, trying to cool down the heat that had risen inside of me.

After a few moments of awkward silence between us both, I sighed and apologized. “I’m sorry, Pip. It’s just… you know how worked up I get when we have to talk about her. I will call her, alright? I’ll call her tomorrow afternoon. I promise.”

She flicked her eyes over to me, her expression still hurt. She smirked before replying, “Fine. If you promise.”

Pip lived a blessed life compared to me. Her father a successful lawyer and her mother a surgeon, Pippa never had to beg for anything in her life. She went to the best schools and got the best education their money could buy, while I struggled along with barely anyone to guide me. Once my father was out of the picture, my mother began to lose grip on reality and instead succumbed to a hazy world where emotions never quite reached her. Including love. Despite all that, I managed to get amazing grades and graduated with top marks from secondary school, sixth form, and uni. However, in the realm of photography, grades mean very little. It’s the product you create that counts.

When the food came, it looked as if Gordon Ramsay himself had styled both of our plates. We both downed our cocktails and ordered second ones while diving into our food. It tasted like Heaven on a dish. I’d never tasted anything quite as divine before in my life. Nor would I ever again, I realized, once the bill came. I stuck my credit card in, hoping the pay from the job would roll in sooner rather than later so I could pay it off.

We watched the sun set over the city and snapped a few pictures to post to Instagram later that night to make all of our uni friends jealous. I already had the caption in mind: “Living the high life.”

We took the elevator down forty floors back to reality where the brisk air greeted us like a slap to the face, but the alcohol in our systems made our skin feel tougher so we weathered our way to the tube station, back to our flat.

* * *

I hated being a lightweight. The following morning, my head pounded from the strong, sweet drinks from the night before. I crawled, again, to our bathroom to pop some pills to remedy away the headache. As usual, Pippa was already awake and making herself a cup of coffee.

“Want anything?” she asked, seeing me slump to the floor after drinking some water.

“Tea,” I whispered. “Please.”

She put the kettle on to boil and I put my hand over my eyes to hide from the light that was drifting into our flat.

The rest of the day was spent lazily lounging around, watching movies illegally on the web since we couldn’t afford a luxury like Netflix. I edited a few more photos before Pippa walked in while the sun was setting on the other side of our building. She stood in the doorway, staring at me while I fixed the color on one of the pictures I took of the sunrise the day before.

“Are you going to say anything or just bloody stand there?” I said, twisting in my chair to look at her.

“You said you’d call your mum.”

I groaned and twisted back to my laptop. “I’m pretty sure I also agreed, at some point last night, that I would introduce you to Prince Alfred.”

Her hand flew to her heart in fake shock. “I thought you were serious!” Sarcasm. Then, in a more serious tone, she added, “Really, Car. I’m not asking you to _see_ her; just call.”

The headache from the morning had gone away, but I could feel a new one forming. And it wasn’t from the hangover. I continued editing the photo, but Pippa didn’t budge from the doorframe. Her eyes were boring holes into my shoulder and side of my face, I knew it. It was like this for another three minutes before I couldn’t focus on the photo anymore.

“Fine!” I finally shouted. “If it’ll make you go away.”

I grabbed my phone, dialed the quick number I’ve known my whole life, and held it to my ear.

“Speakerphone,” Pip said. “I want proof you’re actually calling her and not just holding it to your face.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes, punching the speakerphone button and holding it out.

_Brr, brr…. brr, brr…. brr, brr…. br-_

My heart leapt when the ringing stopped, terrified that I would actually have to try and hold a conversation with the women that was supposed to be my mother. But instead, the answering machine picked up. She couldn’t even bother to create her own voicemail; instead, it was one of those automated ones that said, “ _Sorry, the number you are trying to reach_ –” It repeated back the familiar number, “– _is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone._ ”

“Leave a message,” Pippa mouthed silently to me.

But I hung up.

* * *

On Monday, I woke up to my alarm that was set for 5 AM. I didn’t have to be at the palace until 9, but I wanted to be prepared for my first day. So I got up before Pippa for once so I could have the shower first. I shampooed my hair, shaved my legs, and scrubbed every inch of my body. William, the man who interviewed and hired me, said I wouldn’t be meeting Alfred or any of the royal family for at least a week while I acclimate to the duties and rules for both Alfred and myself.

When it came time to choose my clothes, I really didn’t have anything too professional to wear. I mentally kicked myself for not shopping over the weekend at least for a blazer. Really the only outfit I had that didn’t have any holes or loose threads was an olive green loose, long-sleeved shirt and pair of black jeans that Pippa had bought me for Christmas. I blow-dried my hair and tied the top half into a messy ponytail. I had no choice but to wear my worn down booties again – it was either the booties or trainers, and I didn’t think William would appreciate the bright pink trainers I had bought for a breast cancer run four years ago.

I applied a light mascara and blush, but kept everything light because William had told me on the phone to, “arrive looking professional and clean.” Whatever that meant. So I took “clean” to mean “natural,” but I didn’t want to arrive looking like I just rolled out of bed.

Pippa was just out of the shower by the time I was grabbing on my coat.

“You used up all the hot water,” she muttered, shivering. “You’re leaving already?”

I wrapped my scarf around my neck. “I just want to make sure I’m on time. You know me – perpetually late.”

I rifled through my purse, making sure I had my keys, wallet, and everything William told me to bring on my first day to set me up in their system and begin direct deposits to my bank. I spent the next five minutes running around the flat collecting two different pairs of gloves – just in case it got super cold –, the extra pair of flat keys, a knit hat, extra camera lenses and batteries, and a hairbrush.

“You’re making me dizzy,” Pippa said, sipping her coffee. She was dressed by now in a smart suit and blazer with her blonde hair still wet, making it look more brunette.

“I want to be prepared,” I repeated for the millionth time every time she questioned something I put into my bag.

I slung my stuffed purse and camera bag over my shoulder and spun around in our kitchen for Pippa. “What do you think?”

Pippa stood from her chair at the table, which really was the size of a nightstand, and hugged me tightly. “You’re going to be amazing. Don’t forget to slip Alfred my number if you see him, yeah?” she joked.

I rolled my eyes and kissed her on the cheek. I squeezed her hand and whispered, “This is happening.”

She grinned. “It’s happening.”

I left the flat at 8, made it to Barbican Station by quarter-past, and took the Circle line to St. James’s Park Station. I knew the route to Buckingham by heart, but my heart was still racing. I looked at the time on my phone tick by, knowing full well that I had plenty of time and would, in fact, arrive at least twenty minutes early, but my heartbeat wouldn’t slow its attack on my chest.

I left St. James’s Park Station and walked down the famous road to the palace, seeing the Queen Victoria memorial statue and the gold-gilded angel on top and gardens out front filled with winter flowers. William told me to go around the side again where I had entered on Thursday. I told the front desk my name and they checked me in and handed me a paper nametag where I messily wrote, _Carolina Pearson_ , and stuck it onto my olive shirt, which, I dreadfully realized then, was wrinkled.

“Can I take your coat?” said the receptionist, holding her hands out.

“Oh,” I said quickly, handing her my cheap Primark winter jacket whose zipper was about ready to fall off. I gave her my scarf as well and she told me to sit while she phones William to let him know I’ve arrived.

It was only minutes later that William Mastfield greeted me by shaking my hand and welcoming me to the palace, officially. My bags were checked and I had to step through an airport-grade metal detector.

He led me through various rooms, filling out so many pieces of paper I had no idea whether they were for taxes for getting paid or non-disclosure agreements. I got my picture taken for my staff ID card which would be used to allow me into all the palaces. Finally, he sat me down in his office and handed me a thick packet of paper. The heading at the top read, “ **RULES AND GUIDELINES**.”

“You’ll need to read through this tonight and sign at the bottom of each document that you’ve read it. The palace staff and royal family are very strict when it comes to regulations regarding greetings and how they are perceived by the public. If you are caught by anyone breaking or bending any of these rules – and I mean even the slightest bend – then you will be terminated without warning,” he said very finally.

I swallowed. “Wow, okay. Yeah, I’ll read them tonight.” I took the packet and it weighed heavily in my hands. It must have been at least thirty pages in length, and the font was small. I lightly flicked through it and saw each page filled with bullet points and long paragraphs.

“Now,” William said standing from his seat, “would you like a tour of the palace?”

I smiled. Duh. “Yeah, please.”

He began walking and I trailed after him. “As you know, I am the executive director of all departments here at the palace, and as such, I am the eyes and ears of all that goes on.” We entered into a secret door that blended into the wall and walked through a grey, dimly lit hallway into another door. Again, this door was invisible from the outside, blending into the wall it was hidden against. The room we walked into almost made me pause and gasp.

The walls were white with gilded stuccoes. Even the furnishings like chairs, couches, and lampshades were upholstered with gold threads. There was a large fireplace to the left and in front of us in the center of the room was an ancient-looking wooden desk. The walls were lined with portraits of different men and women. The whole room was lit with the sun streaming into tall windows draped with curtains, which looked to be made out of the softest chiffon. Crystal glass chandeliers dripped down from the ceiling, glittering everything with a diamond light.

“This is the White Drawing Room,” William explained, hands out wide. “This desk–” he motioned to the ancient-wood in the middle of the room, “–was made for the daughter of King Louis XV of France. Over here–” he motioned to the large fireplace and the portrait of a woman above it, “–is the portrait of Queen Alexandra by François Flameng in 1908. The door we just came in behind you also had a passage way to the King’s apartments. You are not allowed access to those rooms, but if you get lost there will be guards stationed around to guide you to where you need to be.”

I nodded, barely taking in anything he was saying. The room was magnificent, nearly glowing from all the gold on every inch of the room. The only part that wasn’t gold was the carpeting, which was an odd red and white circular pattern.

“Am I allowed to take photos?” I asked, wanting to show Pippa later.

“I’m afraid not,” William said, shaking his head. “Photos are only allowed when the staterooms are open to the public during the summer months when the King and his family are away on holiday.”

I resorted to taking a mental picture for Pippa but as William led me from room to room, each one more ornate than the last, I wondered how I would even remember each one. There were five different drawing rooms, each dedicated to a different color, three ballrooms, a state dining room as well as two smaller ones for family gatherings, the chapel, and, last but certainly not least, the throne room.

The throne room’s walls were a rich, bloody red color and the ceiling was cream with ornate stuccoes. Decorating select spots on the walls were detailed gilded drawings of cherubs and horses and floral patterns. A huge chandelier hung from the middle of the room and two red chairs sat under a red overhanging canopy against one wall, elevated on a small platform. Smaller chairs lined the walls of the room but those two commanded respect from all the others. A bit underwhelming, I thought, for _thrones_. They looked just like regular chairs, padded with red velvet.

As William was speaking about some historical painting on the wall, a door slammed open, interrupting him. I almost passed out when I recognized the flop of curls and sharp jawline as one Prince Harry. He was visibly upset and kept his eyes low until he nearly ran into William.

“Oh,” Prince Harry muttered, finally glancing up from his rage, “sorry Willy.”

 _Willy_? I almost laughed. I would have too, probably, if I hadn’t been so in awe of being in the same room as _Prince Harry_!

William bowed his head curtly. “Your Highness,” he said, then looked at me. I quickly bowed as well, but it felt so foreign to me. “I was just giving Miss Pearson a tour of the palace grounds. She will be His Royal Highness’s new photographer.”

Harry barely glanced at me. I stood tall from my bow once more. “Oh, good. The last one was bloody awful. She better be worth it this time.”

His flash of green eyes met mine again, but before I had time to catch my breath, he was storming out again. My eyes followed his figure leaving the room.

I _just met Prince_ fucking _Harry_!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina learns more about her job and her mentor, William Mastfield, and meets a handsome Scottish coworker before finally meeting Prince Alfred.

As we continued to walk down dozens of hallways and up grand staircases, William continued talking about the different aspects of the job. But I barely paid any attention because my entire body was buzzing over what just happened.  
   
Had I really just met Prince Harry? Was that real? William was acting like it never occurred. But I swear it did. I vividly remembered the pale blue button-down with white buttons and navy trousers he wore. I even recalled the way his sleeves were crumpled at the bicep from it being folded to the elbow and pushed further up his arm. It was too vivid to be made up.

“Did you hear me?” William asked, stopping and turning to face me. I wasn’t listening.  
   
“What? Sorry.”  
   
“I said,” he gave an exasperated sigh, “you don’t mind traveling, do you?”  
   
“Oh, uh, no, not at all.”  
   
“Good.” He turned and kept walking. “You will be expected to follow Prince Alfred on any and all official tours, as well as any formal family outings. If any of those events are to take place outside of the United Kingdom, you are expected to stay in the palace the night before to ensure you leave on time with His Royal Highness. Any questions so far?”  
   
“Um, just one.” It had been nagging at the back of my mind since I got offered the job, but now that William was mentioning international travel, it seemed worth asking now rather than later.

“Go ahead,” William said stopping again.  
   
“Well, it’s just… my camera and equipment are sort of expensive and I don’t have the funds to replace anything if it gets damaged or lost. Will there be any insurance for my camera or lenses or anything?”  
   
“You had best _hope_ nothing gets lost, Miss Pearson. But as for damages, that won’t be a problem–”  
   
“No? Oh good–”  
   
“–because you won’t be using your equipment.”  
   
I stepped back a pace. “I won’t?”  
   
William shook his head once. “The palace will grant you a newer, better camera and all the equipment needed. You will read it later tonight in the document I gave you as well, but any and all editing and work on the photos will have to be done on the grounds and not in any of your private living. This is simply for security precaution purposes. The palace and royal family cannot allow for the photos to be leaked prior to the press secretary agreeing on them. The computers at the palace are heavily guarded and monitored – practically impossible to hack.”  
   
“O…kay…” I said slowly, suddenly feeling so stupid for bringing my camera. “Wait – I’ll be staying in the _palace_?”  
   
I saw William give a hint of a smile – the first one I’d seen him ever give. It looked odd on him.  
   
“Yes,” he answered, “but only if Prince Alfred is to go away the next day on official or formal business.” I looked around the hallway we were currently in. Even for a hallway, it was the grandest area I could have ever laid my eyes on. And someday, I’ll be sleeping here, if only for the night. He continued, “The staff’s quarters are in the southwest wing of the palace, below ground. They’re small, but they aren’t meant to be grand anyways. I have my own area down there – it really isn’t that bad, despite what some of the other staff may tell you.”  
   
“You live here?!” I gawked.  
   
The flash of a smile was back again, and this time I felt like he was a father smiling at his child learning to read for the first time. “I have to. I have to wake up before anyone else and I often go to sleep after everyone’s gone to bed. It’s just more convenient.”  
   
“Forgive me if I’m being too invasive, but do you have a family? A wife?” He must have been in his mid-fifties, but I couldn’t catch a glimpse of a wedding ring on his finger before he turned and began walking again through the hallway.  
   
“No, no wife nor family. I prefer the solitary life, though. This job can be quite demanding and I wouldn’t have time to be a proper husband or father. This job is my marriage, I suppose.”  
   
I was surprised he was opening up so much to me. Maybe his hard exterior I saw during the interview was just that – _just_ for the interview, maybe to intimidate the interviewees. If that was true, it sure worked. Seeing him smile and say things like _this job is my marriage_ didn’t fit the image I had of him during that interview.  
   
By the time we finished the tour of the palace, or at least the parts I was allowed into, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. We walked back to his office on the other side of the palace, down on the ground floor. It took us nearly fifteen minutes just to walk there, the palace was so huge. In each room we entered, I searched for a glimpse of Prince Harry again, but he was nowhere to be found.  
   
In his office, William offered me a chair and instead of sitting behind his desk, as usual, he sat on the chair beside me.  
   
“So – what do you think? You think you can handle this job and all it entails?” He crossed his legs and clasped his hands together in his lap.  
   
“I think so. The palace will give me a headache trying to remember where everything is and how to get somewhere, but in time I believe I can figure it out.”  
   
“Here,” he said, standing and walking to the other side of his desk. He rifled through some papers before handing me a packet – much smaller than the previous one, thankfully. “It’s a map of the grounds. I would carry it around with you for a few days, just to get the layout.” He returned to the chair and his previous sitting position. “Do you have any more questions?”  
   
I couldn’t get Prince Harry out of my mind, and now it was nagging at me the way he spoke to me. Again, like William, that image of Harry didn’t fit the one I’d had of him in my mind. He seemed so… cold, mean. Not at all like the soft-spoken, heartfelt man I pictured from all his photos and what I’d read about him (not that I’d read a ton).  
   
“Is Prince Harry always so… gruff?” That was the most polite word I could think of.  
   
William pursed his lips. “He must have been having an off day. I’m quite literally not allowed to speak ill of the royal family. And, now that you’re one of us, you’re not allowed, either. It’s another bullet point on the list I gave you. The last page of which, by the way, is a Non-Disclosure Agreement, which goes into effect the moment you sign it. Anything you see or hear within these walls or anytime you are accompanying the royal family, _especially_ Alfred, you are contractually not allowed to say anything to anyone, no matter what.”  
   
I gulped. “Yes, sir.”  
   
He waved his hand. “I think we’re acquainted enough, or at least will be, for you to call me William.” I recalled Harry calling William _Willy_ and dared not repeat that name for fear of upsetting him with all my laughing. “Well, if that’s it…” He stood and extended his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Miss Pearson.”  
   
I stood and shook his outstretched hand. “If I can call you William, you can call me Carolina.”

* * *

Pippa was home by the time I walked through the door. She set down her glass of wine and paused whatever was playing on her laptop. It turned out to be an episode of _Black Mirror_.  
   
“Oh my god, you’re finally back!” she exclaimed, running up and hugging me. “How was your first day? Tell me _everything_.” She went to the counter, pulled down a foggy wine glass, and poured me a glass. I set down my camera bag on the couch and began taking off my layers, which I was now thoroughly sweating through after walking up all seven flights of stairs.  
   
I took the glass from her before sitting on the couch as well and said, “I better get a FitBit for all the walking I’m going to be doing. The palace is _huge_.” I dove into extreme detail, from what I could recall, about the ornamentation of each room and hallways we went down, still sad I wasn’t able to capture any of it on my camera for her. When I got to mention the throne room, I paused and said, “You’ll never guess what happened then.”  
   
“The King walked in and kissed William on the mouth,” she said without hesitation.  
   
“No. What? That’s the first thing that came to your mind?”  
   
“Go on! Tell me! What happened?” She draped her arm over the back of the couch and curled her fist under her chin.  
   
“Prince Harry walked in.”  
   
“Fuck. Off.”  
   
“He bumped into William and called him _Willy_.”  
   
“Fuck. Off!”  
   
“And then he looked at me.”  
   
“FUCK. OFF.”  
   
“William told him who I was and I tried to bow – which I seriously need some tutorials on – and Harry was all, ‘She better know what she’s doing. The last one was _utterly terrible_.’” I exaggerated his overly sophisticated way of speaking for dramatic effect, but it got my point across.  
   
“ _What_?”  
   
“Yeah! In the moment I obviously didn’t even care what he said, you know, because he’s a _bloody prince_ , but then I got to thinking and he was a right arse. I asked William about it later–”  
   
“You _did_?”  
   
“–and he was like–” I shrugged, “–‘ _Guess he was having a bad day_.’”  
   
Pippa rolled her eyes. “That’s no excuse to say that, honestly.”  
   
I turned more forward on the couch, staring at the screen where a black and white image of a woman was frozen with a terrified face. “I don’t know. I thought he’d be different.” I spun the wineglass in my hand and took a large sip. I told myself I’d only drink one glass – I couldn’t be hungover at work tomorrow for my second day.  
   
I continued filling her in on the rest of the day and showed her the huge packet William had given me earlier. I wasn’t sure if she was allowed to read it with me or not, but since I hadn’t signed any NDA yet, I figured it was fine. The rest of the night was us reading through the huge thing, with my signing the bottom of each page where there was a spot for my signature and date.  
   
I had no idea how I was expected to remember everything in it, like how I wasn’t allowed to call Prince Alfred by his name, only by His Royal Highness, as with his brother as well. _That_ won’t be too confusing. After today’s encounter, I didn’t think I’d want to bump into Prince Harry anyways. Then when it came to the king I had to call him His Majesty. I could only take photos when Prince Alfred said I was _allowed_ to take his photo, and I was never, ever to be allowed into his private chambers. Weekly schedules would be given to me about where Alfred was to be and when, since I was expected to follow him every day except on weekends. If there were overnight trips planned anywhere, I would be given a two-week notice, if not a month’s notice. If a trip is planned for outside of the United Kingdom, I was always expected to accompany Prince Alfred.  
   
Of course, there were some obvious rules, too – the days would start at 9 and end at 6 unless official business required me to stay longer, I was not allowed to date anyone on the staff, etc. By midnight, Pippa and I reached the NDA, which I read through thoroughly. Anything I saw or heard regarding the royal family was never to be discussed outside of the staff. Nothing I witnessed from the royal family was allowed to be discussed with anyone outside the staff. I wasn’t allowed to speak negatively about the royal family with the staff or anyone else I spoke to, especially the press. In fact, I wasn’t allowed to speak at all to the press. I was never allowed to take personal, private photos of any of the royal family on my own personal devices, nor allowed to post anything regarding them on social media. Essentially, to the world, I did not exist within the walls of the palace.  
   
“This is heavy stuff,” Pippa said, reading the contract carefully and yawning. She was a paralegal after all, with the aim of becoming a lawyer herself. “Tight, too. They’re good.”  
   
I took the packet from her and signed the bottom. Even if I did want to contest anything, and I didn’t, I’d have no way to win. So as the final paper was signed, Pippa and I both yawned in unison and said our goodbyes to each other before moving off to our respective rooms.

* * *

The next morning, William greeted me again and we walked into the office-looking area of the palace again. Against the walls were larger offices, like his. In the middle were long desks with computers lined along them. The office was small but in all, there were maybe two-dozen people in the center of the room, each in rows of six.  
   
“Excuse me,” William said, speaking up. “Everyone, this is Miss Carolina Pearson. She is His Royal Highness Prince Alfred’s new photographer.” I waved politely. “This is her second day, so she may need some help getting used to things. Please be gracious and kind. I expect you all to be very welcoming.”  
   
“Hi,” I said sheepishly, and a few said hello back. Everyone returned to their work again.  
   
William walked me to a desk in the second row, closest to the hallway we walked in from the front desk. He showed me to the computer on the end that happened to be right by his office.  
   
“This one will be yours. It’s updated with the newest Adobe Photoshop and other programs you may find useful. They’re all relatively straightforward but should you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. Oh, just before you sit down…” He motioned me into his office again and handed me a large, black bag. It was rectangular and I immediately knew what it was.  
   
I unbuckled the front clasps, unzipped the top, and gasped when I looked inside. It was a new Canon EOS 1DX, along with three different lenses and cleaning supplies, as well as a foldable tripod stand. I took out the camera gingerly in my hands, afraid of breaking it one way or another.  
   
“It’s… phenomenal,” I gasped, flipping it this way and that to look at all its features. It was so new, there was still a plastic film covering the screen on the back.  
   
“Inside you’ll find three spare batteries and the charging station. I know you handed in the rules and signed them, but I should remind you that this camera and its equipment are never to leave this palace unless you’re–”  
   
“On official business,” I finished for him, still staring at the camera. I popped open the memory card slot and saw there was already one in there. I found five more inside a small pocket in the bag.  
   
“If you wish,” William said, “you can test it out. I have granted you sole access to the White Drawing Room to get some practice shots in before coming back here and editing. I know Prince Harry’s photographer and Prince Alfred’s previous photographer preferred to do that.”  
   
I nodded feverishly. “Yes, please. That would be great, thank you.”  
   
We walked through the invisible door again into the White Drawing Room. The walls dripped with gold ornamentation that still took my breath away. The ceiling never seemed to stop rising.     Just before William turned, he said, “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be back in an hour.” Then he turned and went back through the invisible door, closing it behind him.  
   
Setting the camera bag on one of the sofas, I began rifling through it, looking at each of the lenses and different light attachments. I put in one of the batteries, attached a lens, and turned on the beautiful thing. I glanced around the room, deciding what I should photograph first. My eyes settled on the painting of Queen Alexandra above the fireplace that William had pointed out during my tour yesterday.  
   
I took shots from multiple angles – from the side, down below, far away, etc. Something about the queen was ethereal; the way her shawl fell around her shoulders looked almost imaginary and translucent; her dress was as white as an angel’s, with a striking blue sash cutting across her bodice; diamonds dripped from her neck and in her hands, she held a string of pearls. In all, she was–  
   
“Beautiful, right?” came a voice beside me.  
   
I was so intent on the picture through the lens I hadn’t heard the door open. I gasped and saw a man with brown, tousled hair and round glasses. He was gorgeous. And Scottish, by his accent.  
   
“She is, yeah,” I replied, stepping back a pace from the painting.  
   
He turned his head to look at it, showing off his chiseled jawline. It was so sharp, it could cut a diamond. “That was the first picture I took, too.”  
   
“You’re a photographer?”  
   
His caramel eyes landed on mine and I could feel myself blush. “Jude,” he said, extending a hand. “I photograph Harry.”  
   
“You’re so young,” I blurted out, shaking his hand.  
   
Jude laughed but looked confused. “You are, too.”  
   
“No, I mean…” I fumbled. “When I was getting interviewed, William – Mr. Mastfield – made it seem like they only took, like, _older_ applicants.”  
   
Jude shook his head. “I’m twenty-nine. I’ll take it as a compliment.” He grinned, exposing his white teeth where I saw his canine on his left side was indented slightly inward. “I’ve been Prince Harry’s photographer for five years now.”  
   
“Wow,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. Words escaped me.  
   
“William sent me up here to, I don’t know, show you the ropes, I guess? Just see how you’re getting on with the camera.”  
   
God, his Scottish accent only magnified his beauty.  
   
“I’m good, I think. I had a Canon EOS 6D from 2013. Thankfully this one’s also a Canon so they’re similar.”  
   
“Can I see?” Jude asked, holding out his hand again. I handed him the camera and he said, “You should really put the neck strap on. You’re making me nervous.”  
   
_You’re making me nervous, too,_ I thought. My palms were sweating as he flipped through the photos. I hated other people looking at my work before I even had time to look at them.  
   
“You’re good,” he said smiling. He handed back the camera. “Though, soon you’ll have to photograph, you know, _living_ things.”  
   
I laughed, probably louder than I should have. “Yeah, thanks.”  
   
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I know William probably wants me to keep a close eye on you – he’s always wary of new-hires – but I always hate it when someone’s watching me work. I get too nervous.”  
   
“Like they’re always critiquing!” I nodded and laughed. “I promise I won’t break or steal anything. They have to check our bags when we leave anyway. Where else am I going to hide a golden candlestick holder?”  
   
Jude raised his eyebrows and shrugged with an insinuating smile. “I don’t want to presume. You know how to get back?”  
   
I nodded and we shook hands again before he disappeared into the wall. I took a few more shots of the ceiling and close-ups of the ornamentations of gilding on the walls before packing the camera carefully back into the bag.  
   
It was then I realized I was actually _alone_ in Buckingham Palace – well, as alone as you could be with four cameras pointing at you in each corner of the room. I took an extra few minutes walking around the room, carefully inspecting each little item. Even the legs on the stands beside the sofa were ornately designed with leaves and vines, complete with tiny little cherubs at the feet. I kept my word to William, who was probably watching, and didn’t touch anything even though I was severely tempted.  
   
I walked back to the office through the little maze of hidden hallways. In all, I was probably gone for 45 minutes, but it felt like 45 seconds. I went to my desk (how weird is it that I have my own desk??) and flipped on the shiny, new computer. While I waited for it to boot up, I took the memory disk out of the camera and took Jude’s advice and attached the neck strap. He was right – couldn’t be too careful with this £3,000 camera, not even including the other equipment.  
   
I spotted Jude at the opposite end of the long table I was at and gave him a polite smile when our gazes met. I was _definitely_ going to give Pip every detail about him. I could already see her wedding toast to us – “It was love at first sight in front of a painting of a queen, inside the lavish Buckingham Palace…”  
   
I had to look away before the smile became awkward and I turned my focus back to the monitor where I used the login details provided by William. I changed the password once I got on and immediately when to work on the photos I took.  
   
It went like this for the rest of the week – William “renting” a room for me to test out the camera and its qualities before coming back and editing the photos. At the end of each day, he took a look at the photos and nodded, telling me I did good work. He also took about an hour each day drilling me on royal protocols, since I’d be following and talking to the prince every day. By the end of Friday, William gave me Prince Alfred’s schedule for the following week, and he highlighted everything I was expected to attend. Beginning on Monday, where there was a fashion show for some French designer whose name I couldn’t even begin to try and pronounce. I had never heard of them, but I also just recently learned that there was a difference between Louboutin and Louis Vuitton.  
   
“It’s right here in London, but as it is a Monday morning, you should plan to arrive at Kensington Palace early,” said William.  
   
I would be meeting Prince Alfred at Kensington Palace before going to the event, and my heart was thumping at the thought.  
   
During the weekend, which Pippa and I usually reserved for going out to dinners and maybe a pub or two, I stayed inside and worked further on my photography.  
   
“You’re so _boring_ now,” she said on Saturday afternoon.  
   
“If I mess this up, I’ll never be able to get another job again.”  
   
“That’s not true! I’d _definitely_ hire you as my wedding photographer.”  
   
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, first you need a boyfriend and then a fiancé. I would need a job a little sooner than that.”  
   
Sunday night I went to bed at 8 so I was able to wake up by 5 again. I needed to be in Kensington by 9, which normally would take 45 minutes anyways, not even including Monday morning traffic. Plus I needed to stop at Buckingham to grab my camera. Thankfully, since I lived in Islington, Buckingham was on the way to Kensington. Well, at least in the same direction.  
   
“Morning,” Jude greeted me as I walked into the office.  
   
“Oh, good morning,” I replied, walking to my desk. Jude’s eyes followed me to my desk. “Are you going to this fashion show, too?”  
   
Jude nodded. “Harry is attending as well. So are King Henry and Victoria. It’ll be a _royal affair_ ,” he said, adding emphasis on the last two words.  
   
We both walked over to the locked cabinet where our cameras were held each night. I pulled out a key William had given me on my second day and unlocked the doors. The cabinet was actually closer to a walk-in closet. It held all sorts of odds-and-ends like brooms and cleaning supplies, as well as our camera equipment. We each signed out our cameras and each of the lenses we brought along on the sign out sheet inside the door before locking the room again.  
   
“Want to share a ride to Kensington? I’ll pay,” Jude offered as he was putting on his jacket.  
   
I tried to contain my smile and keep my voice calm. “Yeah, sure.”  
   
He ordered up an Uber, which we both took in silence to the Kensington Palace guard gates in the back. We got out of the Uber and flashed our ID badges to the guards who opened a smaller portion of the black gate to let us in.  
   
I’d been to Kensington Palace before – I felt like every Londoner or tourist had been to the palace. But the royal apartments in the back section of the palace weren’t open to the public.   Jude and I walked the long pebble drive to where a string of black, sleek cars were parked. The walls of the palace weren’t anything spectacular – they were made of the same red masonry as the rest of the palace walls, but I could only assume the insides were a bit grander than the rooms open to the public. Both princes had their own separate royal apartments until Prince Alfred becomes king and has to move into Buckingham. Perhaps then Harry will inherit Alfred’s apartment.  
   
“And now we wait,” Jude said, pulling his camera bag closer to take out his own Canon.  
   
“Do we just… take pictures of anything?”  
   
Jude nodded and shrugged while attaching a lens. “Pretty much. I just think of myself as paparazzi, but classier. And silent.” Part of the bullet points on the huge rules packet was to not speak to the prince unless spoken to. “This,” Jude said, flashing his staff ID, “gives us free reign, basically, to take whatever pictures we can get.”  
   
I took out my camera as well, and I began taking shots of the palace and the cars, as well as the guards brandishing machine guns at the gates. I took close up shots of the pebbles that lined the drive, small budding flowers in the grass, and the naked branches of the trees.   Anything to pass the time.  
   
“Carolina!” I heard Jude call from a few feet away. I glanced up at him and saw him waving me over. A crowd had started to gather of other staff members so I quickly walked over. “They’re coming. Okay so William is going to introduce you and you’re going to ride with Prince Alfred to the show. I’ll be with Prince Harry in another car. You’re not to speak to him, as you know, but you’re free to take pictures as you please. No flash. Got it?”  
   
My heart was racing. “Got it.” My palms were sweating furiously and I could feel my dress dampening under my coat. I put on deodorant this morning, right?  
   
I glanced toward the door where they were supposed to come out and saw William making his way towards Jude and I. He waved us over, saying, “Come, come.”  
   
We followed quickly and I hated that I was wearing heels on this cobble drive. My shoes kept sinking into the little stones, making walking even harder but William had told me I needed to dress up for this since it was a formal event. Pippa had loaned me a shift grey dress, which I paired with my old pair of nude heels. My hair was pulled into a low bun that was quickly coming loose and I stabbed fake pearl earrings into my ears that had probably closed up long ago.  
   
Even though I had my camera’s strap looped around my neck, I still gripped to the treasure tightly afraid of anything happening to it. When the two princes stepped out, both Jude and I immediately went to snapping away at them. This was the first time I had ever met Prince Alfred, and my heart was exploding with anxiety. If I didn’t make a good impression, I was as good as gone.  
   
Alfred and Harry shared similar hair tones and their eyes were the same shade of lime green. Alfred’s face was longer, though, and his chin was stubbled with facial hair. Alfred’s hair was also cropped shorter than Harry’s, but tonight it was gelled back, slick. Though they were both tall, Alfred was a hair taller and his legs seemed to go on for weeks compared to Harry’s. The both of them wore black suit jackets and black trousers, but Harry’s top two buttons were undone whereas Alfred wore a simple black bowtie. I snapped pictures of the both of them shaking different peoples’ hands before William tapped my shoulder.  
   
Prince Alfred was in front of us now, and we both bowed. I still felt ridiculous.  
   
“Your Royal Highness, may I introduce Miss Carolina Pearson? She is your new photographer,” said William.  
   
Alfred flashed a perfect smile and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Carolina.”  
   
I couldn’t form words, but I managed to look somewhat professional by shaking his hand firmly.  
   
Before I knew it, we were both stuffed into the back of one of the black cars, and we were off. I was completely alone with Prince Alfred. Holy shit. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the fashion show, Carolina falls into a dangerous scenario where a handsome prince saves her.

The majority of the ride was spent in silence as I flipped through some of the photos I’d taken of the palace. It felt too awkward to photograph him in this silent car.

Okay, so I wasn’t _completely_ alone with Alfred – there were two security men inside the car as well. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to have the next heir to the British throne inside a car alone with a stranger. I’m assuming they did some sort of background check on me though, right?

“Caroline, right?” Prince Alfred said fifteen minutes into the ride. His voice startled me, even though it was deep and soft. The voice of a future king; the Prince of Wales.

“Carolina, your royal highness,” I corrected.

“I suspect we’re going to see a lot of each other, you and I,” he said. His voice hinted at a smile, but his lips never curved.

“Yes, your royal highness.”

Prince Alfred rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to say it every time.”

I felt my cheeks flare a gross shade of red. “I’m sorry…” I stopped myself in time before blurting out yet another _your royal highness_.

“My father is the one who loves pomp and circumstance, all the titles and such. If it’s just you and I, you can call me Alfred.” He leaned forward, an allusion of a smile beginning to surface. “If anyone else is around, then call me your royal highness or prince or something.”

I smiled and nodded curtly. “Yes… Alfred.”

“Now take some pictures of me. Make sure they look damn good.”

I held my camera up to my eye and snapped a few pictures of him smiling, lips closed. I continued to take more candid ones as well, where he looked down at his feet, fixed his bowtie, or adjusted his suit jacket. My favorite, I think, was one where he was looking out the window, giving a half-curved smile to whatever was outside. His gelled hair was perfectly in place, his jawline shadow cut perfectly across his neck, and his stubble creating a small shadow on his cheeks. I took a mental note that the photo would look great in black and white.

“Can I see?” he asked.

I gave him the camera and he flipped through all my photos, nodding slightly at each one.

“You’re good,” he said, handing it back.

“Thank you.”

At the fashion show, I was corralled with Jude and all the other official photographers at the event. Prince Alfred went off somewhere else to greet people.

“How was it?” Jude asked as he jogged up to me.

I still couldn’t get over his absolute beauty. “It was… weird.”

“Weird?”

“I mean… weird, like, it was eerie quiet. It was too awkward to take photos at first. And that was the first time I’d met him and I didn’t want to start it all off by taking hundreds of pictures without _saying_ anything to him but I couldn’t speak to him unless he first spoke to me–”

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Jude said, placing a hand on my arm. My skin went hot where he touched. “They may be royalty, but they’re just like you or me. They just happen to have incredibly, filthy rich parents. Like the Paris Hilton.”

The event organizers put all us photographers into one spot, told us where we were and were not allowed to be to photograph models and celebrities, and then let us free. I followed Jude, not knowing what else to do since I’d never done any photography like this before.

I swapped out the current lens for one that was better for close-up shots and began photographing Prince Alfred once he sat in his seat. The models began walking out and I noticed they were all women and women’s fashion. I captured Prince Alfred’s expressions for each new model that walked out, loving how his green eyes were sparkling in the lighting within the building. Prince Harry beside him kept his expressions stoic so I couldn’t tell whether he enjoyed the show or even cared. On the opposite side of Prince Alfred sat King Henry and beside him, Victoria.

I kept seeing Prince Alfred glance into the audience, seemingly right at me. I felt hot in my dress whenever he did. Not because I thought he was beautiful – I mean, he was – but because I hated when people looked at me while I photographed. I believed they were silently judging my skills or me.

But after the fifth time of Alfred looking over at me, I noticed he was instead looking _next_ to me, at Jude. Odd, I thought, but I kept shooting regardless. I had to stop a few times to admire the fashion myself – all of these were formal dresses that flowed with each step of the model. The designs were breathtaking, though I knew I would never be able to afford anything like them, even with this handsome salary.

For all the fuss that surrounded this fashion show, it lasted only twenty minutes and seemed to be over just as quickly as it had begun.

“Right, shall we get a drink?” Jude asked after the designer came out, took a bow while accepting applause, and disappeared behind the stage.

“Shouldn’t we keep taking pictures?” I asked, seeing Alfred and his family stand from their seats and begin mingling.

“You’ll have your hundreds of chances to photograph him talking to boring people in your job. Believe me, each one will be like the last and the press secretary will use none of them. Come.”

He looped his hand through my arm and guided me back to where all the photographers had gathered at the beginning of the show. Against the wall, there was a bar that was already beginning to fill with people. Jude shoved his way through, ordered two champagnes, and handed me a flute.

“I-I don’t have–” I began, about to tell him I didn’t have any cash on me.

“It’s an open bar,” he told me.

I took in all the people, each dressed fancier than the next. Everyone looked as though this were an Oscar’s after-party rather than a fashion show at noon. There were long gowns and diamond bracelets and fancy, blown-out hairstyles. I really was under-dressed. I only mentally thanked myself that I shaved.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. You alright?” Jude said. I noticed he had an extra glass of champagne with him.

I nodded even though I felt like a fish out of water. Jude walked into the crowd and I took an eager sip of my champagne, letting the fizzy bubbles dance on my tongue. I finished the glass shortly after and went to the bar again. When I was finally able to order, I ordered two more glasses. The drinks were free, after all, and I needed to loosen up.

After I finished my second glass, I heard a voice beside me say, “You a photographer?”

He was a tall man, wearing an impeccable navy blue suit. He was young, too; maybe only a couple years older than me. I wondered what he did for a living or who he was related to to be here.

“How did you know?” I asked, feeling my face getting warmer from the alcohol. “Does the camera and bag give it away?”

He smiled, showing perfect teeth, and let out a short, deep laugh. “You’re right, that was a stupid question. I just saw you standing here and thought you looked too beautiful to be alone.”

I tried to stop myself from smiling but couldn’t. He wasn’t unattractive, but he sure wasn’t Jude.

“Oh, well, thanks,” I said, unsure what to say. God, why was I so awkward? This is why you’re single, Carolina!

“I’m Pierce,” he said, extending a hand.

“Like Brosnan?”

He smiled again. “Sure.”

I shook his hand. “Carolina.”

“Like the state?”

I laughed. “Sure,” I said, mimicking the earlier statement.

“My uncle is Volier, the designer,” Pierce said, glancing out at the room.

“Fuck off,” I blurted out and immediately regretted it. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean that. I mean… wow, that’s awesome.” I quickly took a big gulp of my third champagne.

Pierce must have found it endearing because he just laughed. “Listen, want to go somewhere to talk? It’s just kind of noisy out here.”

I looked at the crowd, hoping to see Jude galloping back to me but he was still somewhere lost in the crowd. “Um, sure.”

Pierce extended his hand again and after I took it, he led me through the crowds, behind the curtain next to the stage. Before I knew it, hangers and dresses surrounded us. I thought the models would be back here, but they must have been mingling out in the crowd or somewhere else. The room was completely empty.

“Wow,” I breathed, taking in all the dresses on the hangers. Moments ago, they were being worn down a runway. I took one that was lavender-colored in my hands and felt the silk skirts of it. It was exquisite.

“Do you take all the girls back here?” I asked slyly, turning back around. I was shocked to see Pierce standing right there, nearly touching me.

“Only some,” he said quickly, looking down at me.

He was too close for comfort, so I sidestepped him and pretended to look at a different dress behind him, one closer to the door. I could hear all the conversations going on outside, but it was a dull roar. The curtains were so thick I couldn’t see beyond them and the conversations were muted, almost as if it were a door instead of a thick sheet of fabric.

“It must be really cool to, um, have Volier as your uncle,” I fumbled for words, trying to think of a way to let him down easy and leave this awkward encounter. I continued to drink the glass of champagne, unsure of what to do with my hands. The dresses looked too beautiful and expensive to touch.

I saw Pierce shrug from the corner of my eye. He was stepping closer again. “I enjoy the perks.”

“Like?”

Pierce took a deep breath in. “The parties. The drinks. The girls.” He reached out and brushed a loose section of hair out of my face. I shivered away from his touch, feeling very much like I wanted to be anywhere but there with him. His cologne was too strong and it was giving me a headache.

“I should be getting back,” I muttered, turning to him. “I have work to do.” I finished my glass. My head was beginning to feel fuzzy and I began regretting drinking so much. I tried stepping back but fumbled. Pierce caught my hand and held it tightly. So tightly, I winced.

“So soon? Don’t you think it would be cool to get a one-on-one interview with the nephew of Volier?” Pierce pouted. He didn’t let go of my hand.

“I’m not a journalist,” I replied.

“Come on, just a few more minutes. I don’t bite.” He grabbed the back of my head and began leaning down.

I swatted his hand away and moved to the side, away from his advance.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is going to happen but–”

“You’d be _lucky_ to have a guy like me,” Pierce said, suddenly deepening his voice and becoming defensive. I realized how much taller and bigger he was than me, and my heart began to race.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Pierce.”

I began stepping away, back towards the entrance of the curtain again but he grabbed my wrist tightly. So tight, I gasped and let out a whimper. “You don’t leave until I let you leave.” Something in his eyes terrified me, and I realized I wasn’t the first girl he’s done this to. He pulled me toward him, grabbed either side of my face, and smashed his lips down onto mine.

My head was locked in his hands, so I was unable to move away. I tried pushing him off me with my hands, but what I felt was sheer muscle. He was easily overpowering me.

“Pierce, stop!” I tried yelling into his lips, shoving against him as hard as I could.

“Hey!” I heard someone call. Pierce suddenly let go of me and I saw a flash of brunet curls step between Pierce and me. “She said stop.”

I recognized the husky voice immediately. Prince Harry glanced at me. “You alright?”

I wiped my mouth to get rid of Pierce’s spit all over it but nodded. From my struggle against him, half my hair had fallen out of its low bun.

“She came onto me, mate,” Pierce said, smiling and pointing at me. He stepped closer to me and tried grabbing my wrist that was still sore, probably to lead me away again.

I yanked my hand back and suddenly, I heard a fist colliding with a face. Prince Harry punched Pierce and sent Pierce reeling back, grabbing his nose.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Prince Harry said, lightly touching my shoulder and guiding me out of the backroom. “There’s a car waiting outside. I’ll be there in a moment. Will you be alright?”

I nodded again, getting sort of annoyed that he had asked me that already.

People outside were all looking at us, and photographers were pointing their own cameras at me, snapping pictures. Everyone was talking, asking what had happened. Somehow they heard everything that happened inside. Dozens of people were shouting at us, asking what happened. I was still dizzy from the champagne and trying to process what events just happened. The lights of the cameras were blinding and I thought I might faint.

“Carolina!” Jude shouted, racing up to me. Prince Harry had disappeared now. “What the hell happened? I left you for, like, ten minutes!”

“Prince… his royal…” I shook my head, trying to remember the proper title. “Harry said there’s a car. Get me out of here, Jude.”

Jude held my arm tightly, but a lot lighter than Pierce had. I used him as support, guiding me through the heavy crowd. Sure enough, there was a black car, same as the ride over, waiting just outside the entrance. Just as I was about to get into the car, I saw Prince Harry running out to us.

“Jude, can you go back inside and take over for her?” he said, walking over. Behind him, two security men followed.

Jude bowed slightly. “Of course, your highness.”

I looked desperately at Jude, silently praying that he wouldn’t leave me alone with Prince Harry. Jude seemed to be the only person of sound mind around this place. But Jude was already walking away.

“Miss Pearson,” Prince Harry said, motioning for me to get in the car.

I took one last glance at Jude, hoping he’d look behind him but he never did. I finally knelt into the car. Once I was seated, I took my camera off from around my neck, took off the lens, and placed it gingerly into the bag all while Harry and his guards climbed into the car.

“Here,” Prince Harry said, handing me a bottle of water. I didn’t even realize he was holding one.

I took the cold bottle, chugged some of it, and held it against the back of my neck, feeling hotter than ever. Especially on a cold, March day. I was still too dizzy to care about being proper in front of Prince Harry.

“What happened back there?” Prince Harry asked.

I noticed his knuckle then – the one that had punched Pierce. It was red but didn’t look like it would bruise. He, a _prince_ , had punched some dude for _me_.

I shook my head, trying to get the facts straight. “I don’t know. We were just talking and I got some weird vibes from him. I tried to leave but then… well, you walked in.”

Harry sighed. “Pierce Volier has developed quite the reputation. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

I almost laughed. “I didn’t deal with it. You did.” I looked him in the eyes then, and I felt something… click. I suddenly felt more comfortable than I had all day. Something flipped in me then when I looked into his green, sparkling eyes. “Thank you,” I said quickly, looking away. Was I hallucinating? Was he looking at me the same way?

After a long pause, Prince Harry cleared his throat and said, “There’s going to be some backlash to this, I want you to be aware. Pierce knows how to spin a story in his favor; he’s done it for years. I don’t want you to worry about anything though. I’ll talk to my father and William. You won’t get fired. Hot water, maybe, but that’s it.”

I drank more of the water. “Thanks,” I said again, both for the water and what he just said.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked.

I tried not to look in his eyes, afraid I might fall into them and never be able to escape. I was slowly feeling better, so I told him, no, to take me back to Kensington where I would call a taxi or Uber to take me back to Buckingham. I decided I should still edit the photos I did have. It was only a little after noon, after all.

To my surprise, he told the driver to take us to Buckingham instead of Kensington. I thanked him again and he told me, “Stop saying thank you.”

Instead of taking the side entrance like I normally would for work, the driver pulled us through the front gates, through the front entrance, to the open courtyard beyond. The card drove us right to the main front doors, only really used for the royal family or official visitors.

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked as we stepped inside. The grand staircase greeted us and, although I had seen it a few times since starting, it still caught my breath. “Miss Pearson?”

I blinked at him. “Oh, um, yeah but I’ve got something in the fridge in the office.” It was a lie – really all I had was a protein bar in my purse but I already felt like I was taking up too much of his time.

“Come on,” he said, waving me to follow him. We walked up the grand staircase, through different heavily decorated hallways, and eventually, we ended up in the industrial-sized kitchen. “What would you like?”

I shook my head, unsure what even to say. The moment we walked in the room, all of the kitchen staff stopped what they were doing – chopping, flipping, stirring – and bowed. Prince Harry waved them off and they returned to their work.

“How about some protein? You’re looking a little white. And something warm, yeah?” he offered.

I sighed and nodded. “Sure, yeah.”

“Harriet?” Prince Harry called, and a thin woman walked over to us.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Two chicken noodle soups, please.”

“Right away, your highness.”

“We’ll be in the small dining room.”

Harriet nodded and walked off, giving orders to different people on the staff. Prince Harry whisked me away again, to the adjoining dining room. He called it the small dining room, but it could still fit in my entire flat, times three.

“Here,” he said, taking out a chair.

“I feel like I should be doing this for you,” I said, blushing while taking the seat. I slipped off the heavy bag on my shoulder and set it on the floor.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He took the seat beside me. “Are you sure you’re alright? He didn’t hurt you?”

I fiddled with the water bottle in my hand, which was now half empty. I eyed the spot on my wrist where Pierce had grabbed me just before he kissed me. It was red raw and hurt to move, so I knew it would bruise. I hoped it wouldn’t be too noticeable.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“I wish I could say you’ll never see him again but his uncle’s designs are everywhere and he leeches off his uncle’s success. Every party Volier attends, Pierce likes to tag along. Half of those parties are ones we attend, as well.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated, “I promise. I was just… caught off-guard.”

Harry sighed and turned in his seat, so he was fully facing me. “I’m sorry this happened, Miss Pearson. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

This was a completely different person from who greeted me on my first day. Whereas that Prince Harry was cold and rude, this one seemed to genuinely care. It made me feel a little bolder.

“I’m surprised you remember my name,” I said.

Harry leaned back in his chair and gave me a half smile, exposing one of his dimples. God, his dimples.

“Carolina Pearson. How could I forget?”

I shrugged. “I just figured, you know…” I trailed off, but his eyes were on me and I felt like I had to finish the sentence. “We just didn’t meet for long.”

“Ah, right. That. Look, I’m sorry if I made a bad impression on you. I had just gotten out of an argument with my father. I hope you’ll forgive me. But I am good with names.”

“Argument about what?”

Just then the door to the kitchen opened and Harriet walked out with a platter that had two bowls. She placed the bowls in front of us and bowed.

“Anything else your highness?” Harriet asked.

Harry glanced at me and I shook my head. “No, thank you. This smells amazing.”

Harriet smiled before bowing again and backing out.

I felt self-conscious sipping soup in front of _literal_ royalty, so I only took small sips, careful not to spill anything down my chin.

“Ah, there’s some color to your cheeks,” he said after a while.

I wasn’t full, but I felt like I needed to stop. “I really should get back to work, your highness.” I stood from the seat, which probably broke a rule about standing before royalty stands or something, and Prince Harry stood as well. “Thank you for this. I am feeling better.” I bowed quickly and bent down to grab my camera bag.

“Carolina,” he said, using my name for the first time. My heart skipped a beat.

I stood up, throwing the bag on my shoulder. “Yes, your highness?”

His eyes searched my face for a good second or two, looking for something. I felt hot under his scrutiny. He seemed to have changed his mind from whatever he was going to say and instead said, “I am truly sorry for what happened back at the show. Please let me or William know if you need anything, yeah?”

I dipped my head in a small bow. “Yes, your highness.”

Then, ever so quickly, he took my hand in his and kissed the top of my knuckles so lightly. It happened so swiftly, I wondered if it even happened. I left the small dining room and wandered for a couple rooms, completely lost until I recognized the White Drawing Room in the next room over. I made it to the office while mostly everyone was still away and sat at my desk. I looked at my hand, still able to feel Prince Harry’s soft hand in mine, and the feel of his lips connecting with my skin. Then, on the same arm, I glanced at my wrist that was still a harsh shade of red. I pulled my sleeves down further to hide it and began to work on the photos of the day.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina learns to manage her situation after the traumatic event. In the wake of it all, she asks Jude a too-personal question and Prince Harry offers her an escape.

I was forced to put in headphones when everyone started arriving back to the office after the fashion show. All of my coworkers were looking and whispering about me. I could _feel_ it. I even caught Pierce’s name a few times. So I put on my headphones and played the soundtrack to _Hamilton_.

My shoulder was shaken violently, forcing me to take off my headphones. I looked up and saw the beautiful Jude looking down at me. “What the fuck, Carolina?”

“What?” I asked, but I knew what he was talking about.

“Are you going to tell me just what the bloody hell happened back there?” His Scottish accent became thick as he talked quickly, and he flipped the “r” in “there.”

I placed my headphones on the desk and sighed, glancing around me at everyone in the room. Of course, about half of them were looking at me. “Come on,” I said, walking to the closet where we kept our cameras overnight. I unlocked the door, stepped inside with Jude, and closed it behind us after turning on the light. “I can’t think straight with everyone staring at me back there.”

“ _Well_?” he asked.

I told him everything that happened and his face quickly changed to that of pure horror and disgust and quickly added, “I’m fine, I promise, but I will definitely need a strong drink tonight.”

“Christ,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I left you. I saw a friend and wanted to talk to them about something. You’re fine though? Are you sure?”

I nodded. “It was terrifying in the moment, sure, but Harry – Prince Harry – assured me everything was going to be okay. He said he’d talk to King Henry and sort everything out.”

Jude raised an eyebrow. “Harry, eh?”

I tried to stop the blushing. “Oh stop. I’m just glad he came in when he did…” I shuddered. “Was the Prince of Wales upset?”

“Nah, not at all. He’ll be glad to hear you’re alright. You said you wanted a strong drink tonight – why don’t we go to the pub nearby after work tonight? I owe you a drink or two.”

I chuckled. “I think that’s what got me in trouble in the first place.”

“I won’t leave your side, I promise.”

I looked down at my watch. It was half past three already. “Fine. _Only_ two drinks, though.”

I went back to my desk, popped in my earphones, and continued to blast _The Schuyler Sisters_ while I worked on the photos from the day. In particular, I stopped at the photo of Prince Alfred looking out the window while we were in the car. There was only a hint of a smile on his lips, but whatever he saw or thought of made his aristocratic features glow. I did as I promised – I turned the photo into a black and white image in photoshop. I didn’t particularly like Adobe Photoshop and using it on images because I felt it made them feel too fake. I really only ever used them to make minor edits, like balancing light. It was while I played with this image that I felt a tap on my shoulder. I glanced up at saw William looking down at me. He pointed and nodded to his office, motioning me to meet him inside.

The office became eerily quiet when I took off the earphones. I made sure not to make eye contact with anyone while I followed William into his office. I felt like a dog that was about to get whipped.

I took a seat in front of his desk and heard him shut the door behind me. I knew this was a serious conversation because he sat across from me on the other side of his desk rather than beside me.

“Miss Pearson, you know why I called you in here, right?” he asked, folding his arms over the desk.

“I do.” My palms were sweating. Harry said he’d speak to William and the king and that I wouldn’t be fired. I anxiously wondered if he had managed to do so yet, or if he was too late now.

“Then you know what I’m about to say.”

I swallowed and looked everywhere but at William. Only a week into a real, professional job, and I was about to get fired. Great. “I think so.”

“I am so, so, _so_ sorry this happened to you,” he said and I quickly looked up at him, shocked. His face wasn’t angry. Instead, he looked remorseful. “I should have known you weren’t ready for such a large job and I take full responsibility. I didn’t properly disclose the proper etiquette for formal events such as this, and for that I am sorry. To be fair, though, you did put this job in jeopardy with your consumption of alcohol. I know your mother had a substance abuse issue but–”

“I’m sorry, what?” I said, jumping to attention at the mention of my mother.

“Well, it was in your background report we ran. We run it on all interviewees. But I believed not everyone is their parents so I offered the job to you based on your merits. You’re a phenomenal photographer, Carolina.” My eyes were wide. I had no idea they knew about my mother or her… _activities_. “I know these things can sometimes run in families, but you must promise me here and now that it will never happen again.”

I blinked rapidly. “I am not my mother.”

“You put yourself and this job in danger, Miss Pearson. Not to mention the backlash the family will now get because of Prince Harry.”

I scoffed. “I’m sorry, excuse me? _I_ put myself in danger? I had a few drinks, yes, but I was fully aware of what was happening. I was nearly assaulted, and you’re worried about the bad press the family will get?”

William raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t look upset. “I’m just stating facts. As far as the press or anyone else knows, you hadn’t been drinking at all. That, however, is in our favor. We all know Pierce and his proclivities. I am taking your side. I know you weren’t in the wrong. I am meeting with His Majesty in an hour to discuss, but I thought I would ask you first: Do you want to press charges?”

I sat back in the chair. “No.” I didn’t want this to follow me forever. Let the press have their story for the day. By the end of tomorrow, all those newspapers would be in the trash or swept up by cleaners. The world will go on.

William nodded once. “Very well. You may go back to work, but I think the King and I will be agreed on this – we can’t have you at a formal event until this all dies down some.”

I swallowed heavily. “What?” Was this some sort of suspension?

He held his hand up. “It’s only for your safety. If this does come out in the press, which I’m sure it will, we will need to discuss how big it becomes. We will stay quiet, of course, including you, on the matter and hopefully it will blow over quickly.”

“And if not?”

“The Prince of Wales will continue his engagements as normal, but Jude will take over for you until it is deemed safe. In that time we will teach you proper protocol in case anything like this happens again. I will also set up a private photo shoot with Prince Alfred for you so you still have something to work on. I will get the dates to you in time but until then, please lay low.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

* * *

“Congrats on the big win,” I said, raising my pint glass up to Jude.

“What big win?”

We clinked glasses nonetheless and I took a sip before saying, “William didn’t tell you? You’re taking over my assignments ‘until it’s deemed safe’.” I rolled my eyes.

Jude chuckled. “Don’t sound too annoyed. William can sniff it, even from here.” He waved around The Grenadier, the pub near work that we were now sat in.

“I don’t know how to read the man. One minute he’s tough and terrifying, the next he’s almost like a father figure saying he’s on my side, but then he goes back to ‘ _oh it’s your fault this happened_ ,’ then back to ‘ _I’m on your side_.’” I shook my head and drank again. “I get so confused by him.”

“He’s a complex man, Carolina.”

I scoffed. “Bloody right.”

Halfway through my second drink, I began to feel the effects of the beer. My cheeks were flushed and I had to yell over the other people speaking in the pub. It was now half-past six, and the pub was filling up with everyone coming in after work. Jude was talking about his sister, Katy, and how she was studying art history at St. Andrew’s in Edinburgh.

“I audited a few art history classes while I was at uni,” I offered. “I loved it. It was so interesting.”

“Why photography then?”

I shrugged, cupping my glass in both hands. “Art’s my passion, it’s true. But I like _real_ things, you know? You can’t fake a photo.”

“Well…” Jude laughed.

I chuckled, too. “Okay, fair enough. But _I_ don’t.”

“Not even on photos of yourself?”

I scrunched up my face. “I don’t take pictures of myself. For instance, today, I got this phenomenal shot of Alfred, right? He’s looking out the window of the car, he’s got this sort of smirk on, and the light of the day was just lighting up his face perfectly. When I got into the office to look at what I’d done, I knew instinctively that the photo should be in black and white, but then the color balance would be off and it wouldn’t look as authentic. All I did was play with the lighting and – boom. Art.”

There was a glint in Jude’s eyes that I believed was for me, and I blushed.

“You’ll have to show me tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

“Um, yeah, sure. No problem. So um… Jude, I have a weird question.”

“Dinnae ken if I’ll know the answer, but I’ll do my best.”

I took a long sip of my beer, preparing. “Do you… I mean… Are you single?”

God, the second the words left my lips I regretted them. How stupid did I sound? Don’t answer that, I know the answer.

“Uh,” Jude mumbled, looking down and smiling. He cocked his head. “Quite the question.”

I covered my face with my hands and shook my head furiously. “God, okay, I’m sorry. Forget I asked. Oh, Jesus.”

_Take me far, far away._

“Carolina, I’m sorry if I gave you the impression–”

“Nope, nope,” I stopped him, taking my hands away. “Stop.” I swallowed the remaining beer and began to put on my coat. I repeated, “Forget I asked. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, Carolina–”

“It’s fine!” I said, my voice too high. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I needed to get out before I embarrassed myself further in front of someone as beautiful as Jude. Shit, _and_ I had to see him tomorrow at work. And every day after that.

“Technically, yes, I am single but there’s… someone else.”

I was tossing my purse over my shoulder, pretending I didn’t hear what he said. “See you tomorrow, Jude.”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

* * *

The tube ride home felt twice as long and twice as full as usual. I stood smashed against the corner, where someone smelled faintly of tuna and gas. I wanted to retch.

I returned back to the flat some 45 minutes later, feeling like I could sleep for days. This day never seemed to end, and the sun had only just recently set. The moment I walked in the door, though, Pippa was on top of me.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you!” She jumped from the couch.

“Sorry I was in the tube. No service.”

“You’re all over the news!”

 _Fuck_. I almost forgot.

“Yeah, um…”

“What happened? They’re saying something about Harry assaulting some fashion twat and that you’re shagging him now?”

“Whoa, hold on. What?”

Pippa took out her phone, did some scrolling, before holding it out to me where I saw it was one of those Snapchat discovery stories. The opening image was Harry in front of me while I looked wildly about. I did _not_ photograph well, I realized. Ironic.

I swiped up where I read the tabloid. It said I had followed Pierce backstage and a “witness” told them that Pierce and I were “engaged in an intimate embrace” before Prince Harry stormed in, in a jealous rage, and punched Pierce before forcefully dragging me away.

“Oh god…” I walked around the couch, plopped down with my jacket and purse still around me, and handed Pip her phone back. “I’m fired. I’m totally fired.”

“ _What_? They fired you?”

I shook my head before letting it fall into my hands. I had taken my hair out of its bun a long time ago, and ran my fingers through it, scratching my scalp. “No, no they haven’t fired me. Yet. It wasn’t out when I left work. And no one bothered me at the pub so it must have only just come out.”

“What happened?” she asked.

I lifted my head and spilled to her everything about Pierce and Harry punching him, along with what followed in Buckingham. “Harry said he’d talk to William and his father about not firing me but…” I leaned back on the couch. “I’m screwed, Pip.”

“Surely they can’t fire you for this, right? They know what happened? That’d be wrongful termination.”

I slapped myself on the forehead. “Shit, forget I said any of that. I’m pretty sure this is covered by the NDA I signed. You can’t tell anyone this, yeah? Promise?” Pip didn’t say anything for a few seconds, only sighed. Eventually, she agreed, but her eyes were on me. “Oh, and don’t let me forget to tell you how I _completely_ embarrassed myself in front of Jude.”

“Ooh!” Pip squealed, inching closer. “Hot photographer?” She hadn’t called him by any other name besides _hot photographer_ since I first mentioned him.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes him.” I told her about the pub and my completely awkward exit.

She punched me in the arm. “Car! You nutter.”

“I’m stupid. So completely stupid. Of _course_ , someone like him has a special girl. Why would I think he would be interested in someone like me?” I stood up and took off my purse and jacket.

“Oh stop.”

* * *

The following day at work, people still stared at me and whispered behind my back about the previous day. I brought my soundproof headphones specifically for this purpose. I blasted music through them and continued to edit the photos I had taken. I never once looked over at Jude, nor waved at him when he walked into the office shortly after me. I was burrowing myself into a shame hole and would climb out when I felt ready. I was fixing the shading on an image of Prince Alfred looking at the model walking down the runway when William tapped my shoulder.

I took off the headphones. “Yeah?”

“Come with me.”

I followed William through the many passageways of the palace, wondering just where the hell we were going. This wasn’t for an assignment, otherwise, he would have told me to grab my camera. A sinking feeling developed at the bottom of my stomach as I realized that this might be the part where I get fired. I followed behind him so I couldn’t get a read on his emotions. Then again, I never really could anyway. We went up a flight of stairs, down another long hallway, and ended up outside the Blue Drawing Room. The doors were shut.

William turned to me and said, “Wait here.” He opened the double doors, turned, bowed, and said, “Your Majesty, Miss Carolina Pearson.”

I took that as my cue and walked in. I almost tripped when I saw King Henry, Victoria, and Prince Harry all waiting for me. King Henry was beside Victoria, and Harry was standing beside them, resting against the arm of the couch. I remembered a moment too late to bow. William exited the room, shutting the doors behind him. The room was dark, caused by the deep wallpaper and dreary weather outside. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, trying to illuminate the dim room, but are merely reflecting the deep red of the plush carpet around the room. I wondered why this was called the Blue Drawing Room when the dominating color was red.

 _Christ, the_ king _is going to fire me?_

“Miss Pearson, I’m sure you’re well aware why we have summoned you,” King Henry began, standing. I walked closer to him. “We have a matter to discuss and I would appreciate it if you were frank with me.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“My son Harry has given me the details regarding the debacle yesterday but I would like to hear how things happened from your perspective.”

My eyes briefly glanced over at the prince, where I saw he was wearing a black shirt with embroidered flowers across his chest, with matching black trousers. A few too many of the top buttons on the shirt were undone, and I saw a peak of what appears to be a tattoo on his pectoral, but I had to glance away before I began to blush.

“Yes, of course,” I replied. I repeated everything from Pierce showing me backstage, to practically forcing himself onto me, and then to Harry arriving. “His Royal Highness tried to de-escalate the situation but Mr. Volier was adamant which left Prince Harry no choice. The only way to get Mr. Volier off of me was to use force.”

“And then the pair of you left the backstage area?” King Henry asked.

I nodded. “I think that’s everything.” I left out the part about the drinking, figuring that wouldn’t help matters.

King Henry glanced back at his son. Prince Harry didn’t even look at him. I remembered him telling me yesterday he had gotten into an argument the week prior with his parents, which I guess was still unresolved.

“Very well. I appreciate your honesty.”

“Is that all?” I was visibly sweating, being in the presence of the king and his family. I felt so out of place. I had probably greeted them wrong or was standing wrong or just doing _something_ wrong.

“I don’t want you worrying about your position within the palace, Miss Pearson,” King Henry said as if reading my worries on my face. “Mr. Mastfield has suggested that Mr. Lawson take over your duties for a while until things settle in the press, which I must agree with. Do I have your cooperation with that?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Until then, let me extend my deepest condolences on this whole situation. You may return to work.”

I remembered from the paperwork that I must bow again when leaving, and not show the monarch my back until I reached the door. So I bowed and awkwardly fumbled back until I saw the door out of the corner of my eye. I turned the handle and exited, closing the door behind me.

William was gone now, but I remembered the way back to the office. I was halfway down the hallway to the stairs when I heard someone calling my name. I spun around to see Prince Harry jogging up to me, his hand waving in the air.

“Carolina, wait,” he called. Just as my heart rate was beginning to settle, it sped up again. My cheeks flushed deeply. I tried taking deep breaths to calm myself. I was beginning to bow again when he reached me and said, “Don’t.”

I straightened myself. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“What are you doing right now?”

I glanced at the stairs. “Um, about to head back to work, actually–”

“Take the day off.”

I unintentionally scoffed. “What?”

“Come with me.”

And then he _smiled_.

The dimples and mischievous glimmer in his green eyes melted me. I found myself saying yes before I could stop, and then he touched my arm and spun me around to walk down the stairs. We wound our way through the palace until we reached the main entrance – the one I had walked through the day before. Harry was telling one of the guards to pull around his car and I admired the large portraits hanging on the walls and the ornate gold designs of the banisters. As the doors opened for the guard to run out, I heard the pelting of rain outside.

“I’m going to take you somewhere I bet you’ve never been before,” Prince Harry leaned over to me and said. My skin prickled, knowing he was standing so close to me.

“Oh?” I said, turning to him with a hint of a smile. “Where’s that?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I raised an eyebrow, and the smile I tried to hide was now spreading across my face. “Are you kidnapping me?” Prince Harry smiled again but didn’t answer. “Why?”

His smile began to fade, and he pursed his lips. “Willy mentioned how the people downstairs were treating you and I figured you could use the distraction. Am I wrong?”

To be fair, I didn’t know. I knew they were talking, but I didn’t know what they were saying. But I didn’t want to tell him that, for fear that he would change his mind.

“My hero,” I said dramatically instead.

“Your Highness,” a guard called, signaling the arrival of his car.

“Come on,” Prince Harry called, holding his hand out to me, that stupid smile on his face again.

The car that waited was an olive green classic Ferrari convertible (I only knew it was a Ferrari based on the stallion raised on its hind legs on the grill) with a bulbous front end and almost nonexistent rear end. The hood was up, guarding the interior against the rain. The guards handed each of us an umbrella that we didn’t use because of the overhead roof covering the area where the car was waiting.

Prince Harry opened the passenger door and I dropped in, buckling myself while he crossed to the other side to the driver’s seat. I watched him jog to the door, not believing this was really happening.

Once the prince was seated and buckled, he put the tiny vehicle into gear and looked over at me, a sly grin on his face.

In a cheeky voice, he asked, “Are you ready for an adventure?”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina gets swept off her feet by going to a place close to Prince Harry's heart. While there, the prince opens up to her but leaves her feeling unnerved when they leave.

A note about Prince Harry – he was a terrible driver. He sped way too fast down the city streets of London. We headed northeast, following the curve of the Thames River where, of course, the traffic was thick. He weaved his way through lanes, just barely passing through red lights. The security meant to follow us has a hard time and eventually fell far behind. We left the Thames and continued on past the Tower of London. He stopped at a dead end and parallel parked the small vehicle next to an alley.

“Allow me,” he said, jumping out of the driver’s seat, walking around the front of the convertible with his umbrella, and opened my own door. The rain was still pelting down, so I popped open my own umbrella.

“I feel like I’m supposed to do that for _you_ ,” I said as he closed the door of the car behind me. With a beep of the keys, the doors locked.

He only chuckled at my statement and pointed down the alley. “Know what’s down there?”

To at the end of the alley was an opening to another street. On the left was a short brown brick wall while the other side had a taller building where the first level was white cement and the others matched the brown brick. He was right – I’d never been here before. I had probably passed it many times, but never once have I walked down this alley.

I shook my head. “No idea.”

“Come on.” He began walking down the alley.

I glanced back at the street, wondering where the security team went. Did they know where we were? What if something were to happen to the prince? I was nowhere near prepared for what to do if a hoard of crazy people mobbed us.

But the streets and alleyway were empty. No one but us, it seemed, was here.

I followed Prince Harry into the alley, my shoes getting soaked from the wet pavement. Pots of plants lined the walkway, but they were empty from the winter. Soon, something would bloom here.

In the middle of the alley, there was a door on the cement and brick building that Prince Harry opened with a key. A sign hung on the door that said, “ _Wilton’s: Push to enter._ ” With a hard shove on the door, Prince Harry walked inside and held it open to me. He flicked on all the lights one by one. The floors and walls were of stone, and a beam overhead had the words, “ _To Great Apollo, God of Early Morn_ ” written across it.

“Why do you have a key to this place?”

I turned and saw him putting the key into his trouser pocket. “Wilton’s went bankrupt a couple years ago. I used to come here a lot as a kid to watch some theatre productions or small music shows. I don’t know… When I heard it was shutting down, I just didn’t want a piece of my childhood ripped down and turned into something else. So I bought it. It still holds a couple shows a month, but I just like to come here sometimes to get away from everything. Come on.”

Straight ahead of us were stairs, but he didn’t take me up there. Instead, he turned left at the steps where a long stone hallway was. Pictures hung on the walls, which seemed to be drawn by children. Upon further inspection, I saw a tiny name scribbled at the bottom right corner. _Tony Wright._ The next was _Helen Peck_. Names I didn’t recognize, but for some reason was expecting to be done by Prince Harry.

Midway down the hallway, the prince stopped at two old wooden doors and drew them open. It was the theatre hall. Chairs were in rows, but they weren’t attached to the floors like they would normally be. They were the type of chairs one would see at their Nan’s – metal legs, worn cushions, no armrests. The paint on the walls was so faded and chipped, one could never be sure what the original shade was. Twisted columns lined the room, which held up a balcony. The yellow lights around the room cast a golden glow around the room, up into the curved ceiling. I remembered the words on the beam at the entrance and did indeed feel as though I were looking at a hazy sunrise.

We stepped further into the room and I realized the seats closer to the stage were circled around small tables instead of rows like all the rest. The stage had two tiers – one about a meter tall and the other, further back against the wall, another meter in height. The stage was bare, except for a piano, acoustic guitar, and microphone. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, but for some reason, I didn’t mind. It only added to the aesthetic.

“So what do you do when you come here?” I asked, still trying to see everything. I was spinning in circles, unable to get the full view.

Prince Harry was leaning against the stage, one leg crossed over the other and both his arms folded across his chest. I noticed he was looking intently at me, smiling. I stopped spinning, thinking I looked foolish.

Prince Harry shrugged. “Nothing much, really. Just read or write sometimes. Not many people know, but I write songs. Nothing amazing; just something out of boredom.”

“Really?” I grinned and nodded towards the stage. “Play something.”

His cheeks flushed deeply. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Come on!” I leaned against one of the tables. “You can’t just tell me you write songs and then _not_ play one.”

He squinted his eyes at me, but the smile said I had won him over. Something told me that not many people asked him to play his music, but he was dying to show it off.

“ _One_ ,” he said adamantly. He jumped onto the stage, ignoring the stairs on either side. “I really only have one finished, and I wrote it a few years ago, so it’s going to sound rough. Don’t get your hopes up.” He steps behind the piano and sits on the bench. He plays a little tune, fiddling with the keys. “Watch your pants – this drives all the ladies crazy.”

I laughed obnoxiously loudly and took a seat at the nearby table. Prince Harry cleared his throat and then began playing a repetitious melody on the keys. He played the three-note melody several times, and I wondered if he’s going to sing at all. But when he did… My skin prickled. His voice, that husky, throaty voice, caught the breath in my chest.

“ _Now you are standing there, right in front of me_ ,” he began, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “ _I hold on, it’s getting harder to breathe. All of a sudden, these lights are blinding me. I never noticed how bright they would be._ ” He drew out the last word, letting it drop three notes. The piano stopped for a brief moment, and the notes rang out in the theatre. I hoped he didn’t decide to stop, being too embarrassed, but with a cheeky smile, he continued on the piano. “ _I saw in the corner, there is a photograph. No doubt in my mind it’s a picture of you. It lies there alone, in its bed of broken glass. This bed was never made for two._ ” The last word dropped three notes, just like earlier. The break on the piano didn’t last as long, and he played without even looking at the keys. Instead, he was looking at me with that stupid cheeky grin. “ _I’ll keep my eyes… wide… open… I’ll keep my arms… wide… open._ ” The notes on the piano sped up, and I knew he was reaching the chorus of the song. I realized I’m involuntarily smiling. “ _Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… don’t let me go… ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone._ ” The piano slowed again as he headed into the second verse, “ _I promised one day, that I’d bring you back a star. I caught one and it burned a hole in my hand, oh.”_ His voice rose, almost yelling but keeping control, _“Seems like these days, I watch you from afar… just trying to make you understand. I’ll keep my eyes… wide… open, yeah.”_ He sped the keys up once more, and sang the same chorus again, “ _Don’t let me… don’t let me… don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… Don’t let me go…_ ” Instead of completing the chorus, his fingers danced across the keys, playing one of the most beautiful melodies I’d ever heard. I raised a hand to my mouth, trying to control my smile. He was magnificent. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes were closed, feeling the music beneath his fingers. After a few moments, his fingers pressed lightly on the keys once more, and his voice rang out in a falsetto that I doubted any mere mortal could sound as good at, “ _Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go._ ” His voice rose again, building in sound now, “ _’Cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone. Don’t let me… Don’t let me go… ‘Cause of sleepin’ alone._ ” The original three-tone melody played out a couple more bars, before slowing and eventually fading away.

He kept his eyes closed and his head tipped down and only looked up when I clapped loudly several times.

“Harry!” I exclaimed then realized my error. “Your Royal Highness, that was amazing. Have you shown anyone that?”

His face went a deep shade of red. He ran a hand nervously through his long, wavy hair. “Oh please. No one wants to hear that.”

I shook my head furiously. “No, seriously. It was beautiful. Whoever you wrote that for… well, I hope they listened.”

Prince Harry chuckled. “Young love, nothing more.”

“I used to _wish_ I could be a singer. I would put on these shows as a kid, truly believing I was Celine Dion or something. Of course, I couldn’t sing if my life truly depended on it, but it was dream nonetheless. I guess people always dream of things they can never have, huh?” I left out the part where my mother had always asked me to sing to her whenever she was drugged up so she could fall asleep to me singing to her. She would pass out with a smile on her face, but now I can’t help wishing that it were the other way around. After all, isn’t the mother supposed to sing her daughter to sleep?

“Well, come on up!” Harry stood from the piano bench and extended his arm, showing off the stage. “Live your dream, Miss Pearson.”

“No, really,” I said. I stayed planted in my chair. “I can’t sing. I promise you. I couldn’t even make it into my school’s choir.”

He had cocked an eyebrow but didn’t push it further. Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the loud ringing of my phone. I pulled it out of my pocket and read the name. _Shit_.

“It’s William,” I muttered, sliding the unlock button and holding it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re out for a late lunch.”

“Um.” I didn’t feel comfortable lying to my boss who had covered for my ass with the King. I heard William sigh loudly on the other side.

“Get back here, _now_.” And then my phone beeped, signifying he’d hung up.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “Seems like our time is up, superstar.”

Prince Harry was biting his lip, but his smile made his dimples dip into his cheek. “I’ve gotten you in trouble, haven’t I?”

“We’ll find out when you get me back.” The prince hopped down from the stage and I stood from the chair. We began heading out of the theatre, but I stopped him with a light touch of his arm. “Your Highness, I want to thank you for bringing me here and showing me this place and your music. It really was what I needed, so thank you.”

He smiled again and glanced out at the theatre. “It’s a cool place, innit?”

I also looked out again one more time. “I wish I could come here all the time. My flat’s so cramped; it feels like I have no space to myself. Wilton’s seems the perfect amount of solitude but gives the air of homeliness. It’s a gorgeous place you’ve got here, Your Highness.”

“Harry,” he said, and I felt him look down at me.

I could feel his eyes on me, and I realized how close we were standing together. I could smell his cologne – a deep, musky fragrance with just a hint of something floral. I had never been into guys who wore cologne, mostly because they doused themselves in it and it became sickeningly overwhelming. But his was the perfect balance of there, but not there.

“You can call me Harry,” he said, his voice softer now.

I tried not to look at him, I did. I tried to act cool and aloof, but anyone who knew me knew I was nothing of the sort. Eventually, I did meet his eyes and all traces of his smile was now gone.

“Harry,” I whispered since he was so close. The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I held my breath, unsure what was to come next. I knew what I _wanted_ to come next, but he was a prince. I couldn’t just _kiss_ him.

Turns out, I didn’t have to. Within a split second, he turned his body and continued walking out of the theatre. I let out an audible breath. I realized I was sweating now, and my heart went into overdrive inside my chest. Was I hallucinating? Did we just have a moment? If we did, he would have kissed me, right? I didn’t just make this whole thing up. I was, in fact, standing in a place that was very special to him, heard him sing a song no one’s heard, and had him stare into my _soul_. I couldn’t even dream these things up.

I followed him back to the entrance, watched him flip all the lights off, and he locked the door behind us. We walked back to the waiting convertible, rain now momentarily stopped, without saying a word.

* * *

We didn’t speak through the entire trip back to Buckingham. Again, we walked through the main entrance instead of the side staff entrance. I would have thought Prince Harry – Harry, I guess, now – would just drop me off and leave, considering the weird silent treatment he was now giving me. But he parked the car and tossed the keys to the awaiting man and opened my car door.

“If you’re in trouble with Willy, I’ll help,” he said, walking into the palace.

We wove through the hallways and stairs until we ended up in the office. The moment we walked in, everyone quickly stood from their seats and bowed – men bending over, woman curtsying.

Without acknowledging them, Harry walked into William’s office and I followed in tow, like a sad puppy. Once Harry crossed William’s threshold, William stood from his desk.

“Your Highness,” William said, bowing. When he straightened, he saw me beside him. Confusion crossed his face. “Miss Pearson.”

“I must apologize, Willy,” Harry began. William’s face went red. He did not enjoy being called Willy, at least not in front of anyone except Harry. “I took Miss Pearson on an assignment, and I didn’t ask for your permission to borrow her. I hope this didn’t cause any distress.”

“Uh, no, Your Highness,” William stuttered, his eyes flicking from me to Harry. “Although I would have preferred advance notice. I was worried when she didn’t return from the visit with His Majesty.”

“Yes, well…” Harry glanced at me. His face was stern and serious. The smile I had seen at Wilton’s was gone.

“I look forward to seeing the photos,” William said.

“Photos?” I stuttered.

“Well, yes,” he said, “since it was an assignment you were out on with His Royal Highness.”

He knew, I realized. William knew we weren’t out on assignment and wasn’t going ballistic for the fact that Harry was in the room. I moved away from one screw up, barely getting by, before walking headlong into yet another.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t that kind of assignment,” Harry interjected.

“No?” William asked.

Harry continued, “We were scouting for a location for a photoshoot for Alfred. The one you’ve set up for next week.”

“I thought that would be in Buckingham or Kensington. Why wasn’t Alfred consulted?”

“He was far too busy today, I’m afraid. I stepped forward as a volunteer. I know Alfred’s taste better than anyone. I know what he would have preferred.”

William wanted to shout at me, I could tell. Veins were pulsing on his neck.

“I appreciate you stepping in, Your Highness,” William said, forcing a smile.

Harry nodded, William bowed, and Harry left William’s office. I quickly exited with him, only because I didn’t want to face his wrath yet.

“Thanks for that,” I said. But Harry didn’t turn around. He kept walking.

I felt everyone’s eyes on me. God, I probably looked pathetic to them.

“Carolina,” William called behind me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Here we go. I walked back into his office and William shut the door behind me. He sat behind his desk, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily. For the longest time, he didn’t say anything. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat.

Eventually, he spoke. “You’re putting me in a difficult position, Miss Pearson.”

“I’m _so_ sorry, Mr. Mastfield. Harry – His Royal Highness – asked for me to–”

“ _Enough_.”

I shut my mouth quickly.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on?” William continued. He opened his eyes now and looked at me. “You’re not the first person to come in here, trying to worm their way into the royal family. Do you know how many applicants applied for your position?” I could feel this was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t answer. “ _Thousands_ of qualified applicants could have been sitting in your chair, but I picked you, Carolina. I picked you because I thought you had the tough skin and determination for this job. Your background was the toughest I came across in all of the applications, but your work spoke volumes. To me, it showed me you could have more potential than most professional photographers. It told me that your background didn’t matter to you – that you were willing and able to overcome it. You have yet to prove to me that my initial thoughts are true, though. Two weeks into this job, and you’ve made _grave_ mistakes that I cannot let slide. Are you understanding me?” Not rhetorical.

“Yes,” I whispered, trying not to tremble.

“Prince Harry has covered for you twice now, so I cannot fire you. But you should be aware that you are on thin ice, Miss Pearson. One more mistake, and I’m afraid I will have no choice but to terminate your employment.”

I swallowed a giant lump. “Yes, sir.”

“Now get back to work. I expect to have all your photos from the fashion event emailed to me by the end of the day today.”

I left his office before he could chastise me any more. I sat at my desk, put my soundproof headphones back over my ears, and got back to work. I had dozens of photos that still needed touching up, and it was already into the late afternoon. I didn’t have the time to even be self-conscious about the whispering or eyes on me. My phone dinged next to me, but I didn’t look at it until I had already finished editing three more photos. When I did look down to check it, I saw it was a text notification from Jude.

I replied.

I edited another photo and saw another waiting text.

  


Two more edited photos.

  


To be honest, I barely had time to even think about my awkward conversation with Jude since coming to work, and now I _really_ didn’t have the time. Jude didn’t message me anymore after that. That night, I was the last one to leave the office. I didn’t get back to my flat until 9. Pippa had already made dinner and I heated up the leftovers while she got ready for bed. I was buzzing, wanting to tell her about Wilton’s and Harry, but knew I contractually wasn’t allowed to.

As I ate, I played the moment where I thought Harry was going to kiss me over and over in my brain, trying to analyze every aspect of it. Pip and the rest of the country were hanging on the belief that Harry was gay, and Alfred was the playboy. But the way Harry seemed to open up to me in that music bar and how his eyes gazed into mine so fiercely made me believe that everyone was wrong, at least about Harry. He couldn’t possibly be gay. There was no way. Unless, in my weird Harry-crushing mind, I had hallucinated all the signs at Wilton’s. Maybe he was just trying to be a helpful friend. He knew what it was like to be in the public eye and be constantly scrutinized – he knew when I needed an escape.

Then I remembered the drive back to the palace and how he left so abruptly from William’s office, without even looking back as I said thanks for covering me. Something wrenched inside of me. Had he realized as we left Wilton’s that I was just annoying? Or that I was, as William had said, “trying to worm my way into the royal family”? Of course, that wasn’t true. I had no intentions of “worming” into anything. It was Harry that had confronted me, not the other way around.

While I slept, I had dreams of Harry reaching out to me, and I took his hand only to realize I was balancing on the edge of a cliff. Below me was nothing but blackness. He was smiling. It reached his eyes, and I smiled in return. He had saved me.

And then he let go and I fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't Let Me Go by Harry Styles: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NZGojUstCM  
>   
> Wilton's Music Hall: https://www.google.co.uk/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x48760334311bc46d:0xf0c0741b5edf781a!2m22!2m2!1i80!2i80!3m1!2i20!16m16!1b1!2m2!1m1!1e1!2m2!1m1!1e3!2m2!1m1!1e5!2m2!1m1!1e4!2m2!1m1!1e6!3m1!7e115!4shttps://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname%3D117435109048746561256%26id%3D6015442838896871570%26target%3DPHOTO!5swilton%27s+music+hall+-+Google+Search&imagekey=!1e3!2s-rBHwVUq-Pkw/U3slZAsdiJI/AAAAAAAAAF8/AcGI9Wb-aioscZCsQFvcZNdGnb0cVlEvQCLIBGAYYCw&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiVjMqAxr7ZAhUBmbQKHaIFBdoQoioIrQEwEQ


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina feels dejected that she's not out on assignment with the princes in Edinburgh, but finds solace in Wilton's Music Hall.

It snowed the following two days, basically shutting down the city of London. It made it impossible to go to work, but Jude assured me that no one was able to make it in so I shouldn’t worry about it. Pippa and I stayed in our flat, complaining every five minutes about the snow falling down but still complimenting how beautiful it looked outside. On the streets below, people walked and threw snowballs at each other. I always hated the cold, so I stayed indoors even when Pippa whined about wanting to get a good Instagram shot of the snow.

“If you want a picture, go out and take one yourself,” I told her, cradling a warm tea in my hands.

When Monday came, we were each stir crazy and a little sick of the other person. It came as a godsend when the sun shone on Monday morning, melting everything. I got into the office earlier than usual so I didn’t seem like I had been slacking with the extra time off. But when I got to my desk, there was an envelope waiting. It was small and brown, and only had “Carolina” written on the front in scratchy handwriting.

I picked it up and it felt heavy. When I opened it, I saw a small note with a key.

_When the world feels cramped and you need some solitude. –H_ , it said. I remembered I had told him those words about Wilton’s. I looked at the key and realized it was a key to the music hall. I don’t know how long it had been on my desk, but for whatever reason, I glanced around the office as if Harry would be there waiting for me to see it. He wasn’t.

By the time it was ten o’clock, I noticed Jude still wasn’t in. I lightly knocked on William’s door and walked in.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning under his desk for something.

“Hi, Mr. Mastfield. Um, I was just wondering – Jude isn’t here.”

“That’s not a question.” He flipped through some papers.

“No, um, I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t something I was supposed to be at, or…”

“Nope,” William replied, finally satisfied with whatever he was looking at. He placed it on his desk and looked up at me. “The princes have an engagement in Edinburgh this morning and will be attending events in Scotland all week.”

“Well, sir, I noticed that there hasn’t been much press lately about last week’s… event. Should I be in Edinburgh as well? I’m sure Mr. Lawson could use the help and–”

“The King still doesn’t think it’s wise,” William said, cutting me off. “The press may have calmed down for now, but we don’t just want them to calm down; we want them to forget the events. If you’re seen out so soon, they’ll write of nothing else but ‘ _the girl who got Prince Harry to punch Pierce Volier_.’ We want them focused on the charity work the boys are doing, not the silly tabloid rumors that have spread.”

“What am I to do in the meantime?”

“Mr. Lawson will send the photos each night for you to take care of the following day. As there haven’t been any yet, I’m sure you can find yourself useful around here.”

_I’ve been demoted to an intern_ , I thought begrudgingly to myself as I walked back to my desk. The rest of the day was spent helping everyone else – filing paperwork, refilling paper in the copy machine, fetching coffees, etc. – and I wanted to shoot myself in the foot. I was being punished for something I had no control over. What was I supposed to do? Say no to the prince? He knew I needed that escape, and I felt like he needed one, too.

Thankfully I didn’t have to stay until Jude sent the photos. William at least gave me that luxury. I arrived at the office just after 8 the following morning to an email from Jude sent just minutes before midnight. I scrolled through the images and picked out the ones I thought had the most potential. The photos from the morning before were classic hand-shaking photos of both the princes. They went to Edinburgh castle to unveil a new exhibit. Both princes were pictured individually giving a speech at a podium. Prince Alfred was wearing a classic navy suit with a sky blue button-down shirt and matching navy trousers, while Prince Harry wore a more daring ensemble of a white floral suit jacket with matching trousers and a white button-down silk shirt, with his trademark top buttons undone, exposing a bit of his chest.

Continuing through the photos, there was some sort of red carpet event in the evening that, of course, Prince Alfred had a date to. I assumed she was a model of some sort – her body barely even existed next to his. Her neck, arms, waist, and legs were so thin I worried about her being able to even stand upright. Prince Harry was pictured dateless, which made me slightly happy.

“ _At least I don’t have a weird crush on the gay one_ ,” Pippa had said right after my job interview. Maybe that’s why we didn’t kiss. Maybe I did imagine the signals. He did dress rather flamboyantly and was never pictured with a girl – except for me, last week. At least for a brief moment, I suspended those gay rumors.

_He’s gay. Get over it_ , I told myself. But I still managed to linger on his photos just a bit longer than Prince Alfred’s, if only to take in the entire sight of him. I spent all day editing the photos Jude sent in, but instead of going home that night, I decided to go somewhere else. I left Buckingham and walked to St. James’s Park Tube Station, hopped on the crammed District Line and stood crushed between people for an uncomfortable fifteen minutes. I wedged my way off the tube at the Tower Hill Tube Station and walked east for ten more minutes before finding the memorable alleyway. I pulled my keys out of my purse, fumbling with the gloves on my hands for the proper key. I put it in the lock and was half surprised it worked. I shoved hard on the door and found the light switches the prince had used before. Wilton’s Music Hall burst with light, and the Apollo message on the beam above greeted me.

I don’t know why I wanted I come here. Something just felt right with this place. It felt warm and _good_. Although, walking around alone felt a little creepy in the old building. I decided to do more exploring since my time here before was cut short. Instead of walking to the hallway on the left like before, I took a right turn and found myself in a small bar area. I played with one of the tabs and was surprised to see beer spill out from it. I didn’t think Prince Harry would be too upset, so I took a pint glass down and filled it up with the frothy, light brown liquid. I didn’t recognize the brand name but I didn’t care. It was sweet but held a bitter note at the back of my throat. It was delicious. I took off my hat, jacket, and scarf and wandered more about the hall while holding the pint.

More children’s drawings lined all the walls in the building, each one depicting something different. Some were family portraits (very rough portraits, might I add), others told fantastic stories of dragons or princesses. None of them had any rhyme or reason for being on the walls of this small music venue, it seemed. I walked back to the entrance and decided to take the stairs up to the balcony level. I sat on one of the chairs overlooking the stage below and propped my feet up on the rail. I sipped more at the beer, feeling a warmth settle in my stomach. I understood why Prince Harry decided to buy it when it went under. This place had such character and made you feel welcome, even if you were alone inside it. I never wanted to leave this place.

I finished the beer and went back to the bar to clean it. After, I walked into the main seating area of the hall and went straight up to the stage. Just days ago, the prince was here singing to me on that piano right there. I could still hear the melody in the air.

“ _Don’t let me… Don’t let me… Don’t let me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feelin’ alone_.”

I got up onto the stage and walked over to the piano. I looked at the bench, still unbelieving Prince Harry had sat there. I looked at it for a few seconds, wondering if I should really do it. Then I did. I sat down and heard it creak lightly underneath me. I lifted the cover over the keys and plunked a few notes. The first one almost startled me by its sheer volume, only because it was so quiet within the venue. The curved walls and ceiling only made the note bounce around. It made it seem even louder. I only knew simple songs on the piano, ones that friends or music teachers would show me at school. Neither of my parents allowed me to take lessons when I was a kid because we couldn’t afford it.

I kept coming back every day after work. I found myself counting down the minutes until I was able to leave the office to come to Wilton’s. Pippa asked me every night where I was, and I told I was working late since Jude was gone. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her about Wilton’s – probably because I liked the alone time it allowed me. The city of London was always so claustrophobic that this little piece seemed to be carved out just for me. It was a breath of fresh air. Each time I went to Wilton’s, I sat behind the piano, trying to find the notes the prince had played for his song. It took me three days, but I eventually found the three repetitive keys. I didn’t remember all the lyrics, only the chorus, so I sang that over and over. It was on the fourth day, Friday, as I was singing the chorus for the fourth time, that I heard someone walking into the theatre.

I gasped when I saw Prince Harry’s figure round the doorway.

“You said you weren’t a good singer,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I mumbled, backing away from the piano. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Hey, imitation is the highest form of flattery.” His smile widened now.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I got off the stage and gathered my coat.

“Please don’t,” he said, stepping closer to me. “I gave you that key for a reason. Though, I didn’t intend for you to come every day.”

“How did you…”

“What, you think I don’t have cameras or security installed?” He was only a few steps away from me now.

“You… You’ve been _watching_ me?” Oh god, he’s seen me try and mimic his song for four days!

Prince Harry shrugged. “I get a notification on my phone whenever the doors are opened. Once I saw it was you, I usually didn’t pay attention. But you came here every day. I wanted to know what you were doing.”

“That’s embarrassing,” I mumbled, wanting to smack myself in the head.

“You liked my song, huh?” He nodded to the piano.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. “Er, yeah. I was just fiddling around…”

“You _can_ sing, you know. You are good. You just need confidence. You said it used to be your dream, right?”

I laughed darkly and looked down at my feet. “Yeah, but I was a kid.”

“So?”

I looked up at him now. “All right then, Your Highness–”

“Harry.”

“–what was your dream, then?” _To be a dashing prince?_

He laughed. “Besides writing music? I’ve always kind of wanted to be an actor, I guess. I’ve always liked the idea of slipping out of my life and into someone else’s. Maybe even a model.”

I took a seat at the table and he followed suit.

“Actor? Model? Why can’t you? I mean, you’re a prince. You could do anything you want.”

Harry clucked his tongue in his mouth. “Not exactly. I could donate to a charity regarding acting or modeling, but I can’t do any of that myself.”

“Why not?”

“When’s the last time you saw royalty do any of that?”

He had me there.

“Have you talked to Jude?” I asked. “I’m sure he’d be willing to at least help in the modeling.”

Harry gave a dry laugh. “Oh, we have. We’ve done shoots. But the damned press secretary refuses to release any of it.”

“Does she have to?” I never met the press secretary, but I emailed her every night my photo edits from Jude. She never replied, but I would see a couple of them on the royal’s social media pages the following day.

Harry pursed his lips tightly together. “People have this notion of royalty – that we can say and do whatever we want simply _because_ we’re royalty. It’s actually the opposite. Every second of every day is planned out for you. Charities are picked out for you. Hell, I can’t even send out a Tweet. I live in a glimmering straightjacket.”

“I’m sorry,” I said simply. I didn’t know what else there was to say.

“Anyways, shall we have a drink?” Harry slapped the table, essentially slapping away the pity in the air.

“Um, sure.”

We both stood from the table and made our way to the small bar near the entrance again. Harry grabbed the pint glasses, which I promptly took from him to pour.

When he raised an eyebrow, I smiled and held the pint glass under a tab to pour. “They always say to watch your drinks, in case anyone puts anything in them.” I chuckled. “Plus, I did some bartending when I was at uni. I can’t imagine you’re too good at topping off.” I finished the beer, making sure it only had a small head of foam. I handed it to him and he looked rightly impressed.

“You’ve got me there,” he said, tipping the glass at me and then taking a sip.

I poured another one for myself and we both went back into the theatre. I don’t really know why – there were chairs in the mini bar area, after all. Maybe we both felt more content in that large, open room.

“So – I have a question,” I asked boldly, after taking a few sips. I was beginning to forget that Harry was a prince and not just a friend.

He nodded. “Go for it.”

“What’s with the drawings? The children’s drawings?” I pointed to the door.

“Most have been up for as long as I can remember. When I bought the place I continued to have regular events, some of which were groups reading to children. I guess at these events, they have the children draw something. Since I assumed that’s where all the drawings came from, I kept up the tradition by hanging them on the walls.”

“Any by you?”

A cheeky smile spread across his lips. “Maybe.”

I gasped. “Where??”

He winked. “Ah, you’ll have to find that for yourself, Miss Pearson.”

I rolled my eyes and took another few gulps of the sweet-tasting beer.

“I have a question for you, then,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Oh boy.”

“How are you finding your job so far?”

I puffed out a large breath of air and chuckled. “What, you mean the one assignment I’ve been to? Yeah, it’s been great,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry it’s been so difficult…”

I shook my head. “I never know what to think of Mr. Mastfield. I mean, he seemed to be in my corner after Pierce but half the time I never know where he and I stand. And then after our tryst last week,–”

“Tryst, huh?”

“–he’s barely spoken a word to me. And when he does, it just feels so condescending.”

“Will’s never been one for feelings,” Harry said softly. “For the longest time as a kid, I didn’t think he _had_ feelings. But as I grew older, I learned his mannerisms and now he and I get along swimmingly.”

“Oh, _well_ ,” I scoffed, “if he and you can get along…” Eye roll.

“Carolina,” Harry said, placing a soft hand on mine. I almost gasped and dropped my beer. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at work. I can talk to him if you want.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of his hand on mine. It was so warm. I didn’t know if the heat came from his hand or if I was imagining the fire under my skin. I took too long to reply.

“Carolina?”

“Oh, uh,” I stuttered, looking away from our hands, “no, that’s okay. Thanks, though. I’m sure everything will blow over soon enough.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Why – uh – why don’t you play another song of yours? Seeing as I’m your number one fan.”

His features immediately lit up. “You sure?” His hand left mine, and an icy chill fell over where his palm had just laid. “You really want me to?”

His excitement was contagious, although I pitied him a bit to see how excited he got. He obviously didn’t get to play for people often, if at all. I may be the first person to hear some of these songs.

“Go ahead.” I motioned to the stage ahead of us.

Harry put his beer on the table and jumped onto the stage, getting behind the piano again. “So, this one is much newer than _Don’t Let Me Go_. I wrote this one just a few months ago, while I was fiddling on the piano.”

I nodded, urging him on. “Woo!” I shouted. “Go Harry!”

We both chuckled before he began playing the heavy, slow notes. After a few seconds of that, he began, “ _Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times. Welcome to the final show, hope you’re wearing your best clothes. You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky. You look pretty good down here, but you ain’t really good._ ” A short pause, then he surprised me by going into a higher, falsetto voice that, with his deep voice, I didn’t think was possible. “ _We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullet? The bullet? We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets?_ ” A few short, chunky notes on the keys and he voice left the falsetto behind, becoming stronger and louder as he entered the chorus. “ _Just stop your cryin’, it’s a sign of the times. We gotta get away from here. We gotta get away from here. Just stop your cryin’, it’ll be alright. They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here._ ” The chorus ended, and he went back to the same, heavy notes and melody as the beginning. “ _Just stop your cryin’, have the time of your life. Breaking through the atmosphere, and things are pretty good from here. Remember everything’ll be alright. We could meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here._ ” He paused and went into a falsetto again. “ _We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets? We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullet? The bullet?_ ” With a louder, more demanding voice again, “ _Just stop cryin’, it’s a sign of the times. We gotta get away from here, we gotta get away from here. Stop your cryin’, baby, it’ll be alright. They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here._ ” Without missing a beat, he moved, impressively, back to falsetto. “ _We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets? We never learned we’d been here before. Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets?_ ” Again, he switched into a more powerful voice slammed away at the keys and moved into the bridge of the song.  “ _We don’t talk enough. We should open up, before it’s all too much._ ” He took the break in lyrics to furiously play the keys in impossible notes. “ _Will we ever learn, we’ve been here before? It’s just what we know. Stop your cryin’, baby, it’s a sign of the times. We gotta get away…_ ” His voice trailed, and I could tell he was leading up to a large moment in the song. “ _We got to get away! We got to get away! We got to get away! We got to get away!_ ” He held onto the last part of the word for a while before repeating, “ _We got to, we got to get away. We got to, we got to get away. We got to, we got to get away._ ” He held the last note of the song even longer than before, and I worried his vocal chords would bust. But he held on, only making my heart glow brighter. Then he played the same, heavy piano melody from the beginning of the song, eventually fading out.

I clapped furiously again, still awestruck of how beautiful his music was.

“That was amazing!” I said, amazed. “What’s that one called?”

He stepped away from the piano and back towards our table. His face was red, either from the power drained from him from the song, or from embarrassment. “That’s _Sign of the Times_.”

“I mean, Harry…” I was shaking my head in disbelief. “That was _incredible_. Seriously.”

“When are you going to sing for me, huh?” He sipped his beer.

I shook my head. “Um, never.”

“Come onnnnn,” he begged. “I’ve sung two for you, now! I think you owe me.”

I tipped my nearly-empty pint glass in his direction. “I’ll need a whole lot more of these, then.” I had hoped that would put him off, but instead, he stood and took my glass.

“Fine then,” he said, about to walk away.

“I was joking!”

“Too late,” he said, already halfway out of the theatre.

Four pints later, I found myself on the stage, belting out Whitney Houston’s version of “ _I Will Always Love You_ ,” as if I was in some sort of lonely karaoke bar. Harry was down below, sitting at the table, cracking up and covering his face. The skin of his face and neck were red from laughing so hard, which only made reaching my high notes even more difficult.

When I finished my last trills, I took a staggering bow.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night,” I said as I air-kissed the invisible crowd. I stumbled down the stairs back to our table where I plopped down onto the chair and finished the remaining beer.

After his laughing fit subsided, Harry wheezed out, “That was… that was something.”

I faked a gasp. “Ouch. Rude.” I knew my cheeks were flushed red from the alcohol.

Harry looked at the watch on his hand. “Is it really 12:30?”

Without thinking, I grabbed his wrist to look at the time myself. Once my vision steadied, I saw that it was, indeed, half-passed midnight. “Fuck.” I checked my phone and, sure enough, Pip had messaged me about 30 times asking where I was. “Fuck,” I whispered again.

“Miss a hot date?” Harry asked, eyeing my phone and me.

I scoffed. “Right, yeah. No, my flatmate is just freaking out. I should call her, but she’s probably already asleep.”

“Not freaking out too much then, huh? If she’s already asleep?” He leaned forward and took the phone out of my hands.

He was so close to me, and he wasn’t backing away. Was I making up the signals again? I had felt so relaxed with him now because I had thought he was gay. I mean, that’s the only way things made sense – and that’s the only way I could think of him if I wanted to keep my job. But I kept feeling something pulling me toward him, and I couldn’t stop myself.

“You know why I love this place so much?” he suddenly asked, breaking the mild tension. His voice was low and soft, as if he were in a crowded room, trying to make sure only I heard his words.

“Because you went here a lot as a kid,” I replied. After all, it was what he told me.

“Yes and no,” he continued in the same low voice. “Because it has no windows.”

I looked around. He was right. The walls, though peeling with paint, had no fixtures on them aside from lights.

“No one to pry. No one to take pictures. Just… silence from the outside world.”

I was busy looking at the way his lips moved to form their words. “That must be nice.”

“Inside of here, I’m not a prince. I’m not the second in line to the throne. I can be anyone, do anything.”

My heart was racing painfully fast. I could smell the beer on his breath, he was so close. It mixed with his cologne beautifully. I wanted to bathe myself in it – in him.

“That… must be a breath of fresh air,” I mumbled out. I may have been feeling the alcohol, but I knew I wasn’t drunk. I was in control of myself. I remembered William’s words – that he knew of my mother’s history of alcohol abuse but hired me because he didn’t think I’d travel down the same path as her. With that thought, I drew back from Harry, my illusion of him instantly shattering. “I should get going.”

“It’s Friday, you don’t have work tomorrow.”

“I know but…” I shook my head, trying to clear the fuzziness of the alcohol. “This isn’t right.”

“What isn’t?”

I pointed between us. “This. Whether you want to forget it or not, you _are_ a prince, Harry. And I’m… I’m just a photographer. It isn’t right to be sat here pretending you’re anything else.”

He swallowed, his face losing its cheeky grin. “I wasn’t saying that to get pity.”

“No, I know but–”

“I said it so I could do this.” He stood from his sea to cross the small distance between us. His hand reached out to cup the back of my neck while the other touched my cheek. He took a moment, reading into my eyes but I was already drowning in the depth of his emerald ones. Then, he leaned down to my height and lightly touched his lips to mine. I should have pulled away. I should have told him, again, that it wasn’t right. He was a _prince_! But none of those thoughts occurred to me then. Instead, I did the opposite. I pulled his waist closer to me, closing the distance between our bodies, and kissed him back.


End file.
